


Kills You Slowly

by btaylor17



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blackmail, Character Death, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sexual Abuse, Threats, Verbal Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2020-03-08 20:42:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18902290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/btaylor17/pseuds/btaylor17
Summary: “Peter!” Tony greets loudly, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of another man. “I’d like you to meet someone.”The man steps out of Tony’s embrace to offer a welcoming hand that the boy gingerly shakes, snapping him out of his stupor. “Ah, Peter,” he smiles, the corners of his smile twisting to form an unsettling curl, “Skip Westcott. Nice to meet you.”---When a ghost from Peter's past reemerges, his life is flipped upside down. Will Tony notice that something is bothering his kid before it's too late?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Here's a new story that's in the works. Just some quick background: Peter doesn't have any powers in this (I feel like I can't write them well). Additionally, I've killed off May, which I kind of hate in stories but felt like it was necessary for this one to come together. Here's the first chapter and let me know what you guys think :)

Peter can’t help but tilt his head in amusement at the sight in front of him. After all, it isn’t every day you have the opportunity to see The Great Tony Stark adorning a light pink “Kiss the Cook” apron in order to protect a charcoal gray suit that most likely had cost thousands of dollars. Careful concentration is etched on his face as he carefully measures out a portion of cooking wine to be added to the simmering pot next to him. The precision is rewarded though, as the mouth-watering smell of homemade marinara sauce wafts through the air and envelops the room in a pleasant aroma.

 

“And just what are you looking at, young man?” Tony demands playfully, pointing the end of his knife towards the other side of the counter. The teen attempts to hide the grin growing on his face but has little luck when a small giggle escapes his mouth. The chef simply raises an eyebrow at the kid’s behavior for a quick moment before placing his focus on finishing the task at hand.

 

“Nothing,” Peter assures quickly as he leans forward to grab an apple from the bowl of fruit that sits between the two of them. However, a sharp sting to the back of his hand causes him to retract the limb quickly, wide eyes snapping up to stare at the older man in disbelief.

 

“What the hell was that for?” Peter asks, cradling his hand close to his chest with feigned pain.

 

“None of that,” Tony reprimands lightly, sliding freshly chopped tomatoes into the sizzling pan on the stove, “You’ll spoil your dinner. Besides, I need you hungry.”

 

Peter lets out a dramatic sigh, upper body falling forward to allow himself to rest his head on his now folded arms. “But I’m hungry  _now_ ,” he whines, looking up at the older man with his saddest expression. It’s a pitiful sight, with a pronounced pout and the largest possible puppy dog eyes possible, but it has little effect. In return, Tony just rolls his own eyes and flicks a piece of basil at the kid’s face.

 

“What’s the big deal anyways? It’s just some company dinner, you guys have them all the time,” Peter continues to complain, sitting back up before wiping the offending piece of food off his forehead with mock disgust.

 

“The big  _deal_ ,” Pepper answers as she walks in, fidgeting with the back of her left earring, “Is that this guy could be just what Stark Industries needs to revamp its image, especially after this whole ordeal with the accords.”

 

It was no secret that in the debate of whether the accords should or should not be signed, the majority of the younger population clearly sided with Captain America, due to his strong influence and presence within the schools. Although a sound conclusion had eventually been reached and all issues, superhero and personal, within the Avengers had been resolved, the damage to Stark Industries had been done. It simply had lost all appeal with Captain America supporters.

 

After making a quick pit stop to give Tony a peck on the cheek, Pepper reaches into the cabinets besides him to pull down a set of plates needed to start setting the table. The clear clicks of her heels make every step known.

 

“Besides, Steven’s a very well-accomplished man,” she adds with excitement, a hint of adoration seeping into her words, “He graduated early from Princeton, and managed to make a name for himself at only 23! Isn’t that spectacular?”

 

“Why not go out? Isn’t that what you guys, like,  _normally_ do?” Peter asks, swiftly twirling the bar stool around to face the woman. To be honest, he was still a little confused why his attendance to this specific dinner was needed in the first place. It definitely seems to be a big deal, if the way Pepper was having them dress in their nicest suits was any indication, but Peter didn’t have anything to do with company matters.

 

“He’s a family guy,” Pepper explains as she holds wine glasses against the light to check for possible scratches. Satisfied with their quality, she places them at each spot on the table before going to fold the cloth napkins, “He thinks that every company should have a strong family behind it.”

 

“And a nice, home cooked meal with the Stark family is exactly what is needed to demonstrate I have moved on from my wild partying days,” Tony chimes in from his place at the stove, with a monotone voice that indicates he was merely quoting another person, most likely Pepper. The said woman sends the man a glare from her place, causing the teen to smile from his spot between the adults. It made Peter feel warm inside that they believed he was important enough to be included. Even though he has lived with them for a few months now, the ache of the death of his aunt now only background noise in his day to day life, he doesn’t believe he can ever quite get over the fact that the couple loves him as much as he admires them.

 

“Peter, honey,” Pepper’s voice rings throughout the room, pulling Peter out of his thoughts. “Can you go grab a bottle of pinot noir from downstairs? I forgot to grab one.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” Peter replies, giving a flimsy salute as he slides off his seat before heading to the elevator.

 

Despite the fact that Tony has been sober for years now, Pepper still liked to have a drink or two with company. However, to keep temptation to a limit, the alcohol cabinet was located in the communal kitchen, which was two floors down. After exchanging a quick hello with Steve and Bucky, Peter grabs the red glass bottle and heads back up.

 

In the elevator car, the faint sound of Pepper’s laugh bounces around the metallic surface. This sound wasn’t her genuine laugh, but rather the more restrained one that she saves specifically for company matters. Like everything Pepper does, it was still charming, nonetheless.  _He must be here_. Peter thinks to himself. Using the shiny reflective surface of the elevator wall, Peter inspects his own tie one last time before the doors slide open.

 

“Peter!” Tony greets loudly, arm wrapped around the shoulders of another man. “I’d like you to meet someone.”

 

Peter just stares in shock, making a conscious effort to grip his now sweaty palms around the wine bottle in hopes that it doesn’t slip out. It feels as if time has rewound itself, causing Peter to revert back to the nine-year-old little boy who always so scared, so afraid. It seems like the man in front of him somehow has not changed. His blond hair was still perfect, his sharp blue eyes still shining. Peter knows what lies beneath that picture-perfect surface, though. He knows what that man was capable of.

 

After a moment of no response, the man steps out of Tony’s embrace to offer a welcoming hand that the boy gingerly shakes, effectively snapping him out of his stupor. “Ah, Peter,” he smiles, the corners of his smile twisting to form an unsettling curl, “Steven Westcott. Nice to meet you. You can call me Skip.”

 

*     *     *

 

Peter shifts uncomfortably in his seat next to Pepper for probably the billionth time that evening. Thankfully, the adults seem to be too busy talking amongst themselves to really notice the teen’s discomfort. He can’t help but cast cautionary glances at their guest across from him, who is flashing a bright smile and laughing along with all of Tony’s jokes. It’s unclear if Skip even remembers who he is, and, if so, the man gives no indication. Peter debates with himself if that’s for better or for worse. He tries to not think too hard on the subject, but rather indulge himself on the food in front of him and push unwanted memories away. After all, it’s a rare occasion for Tony to make his mother’s famous spaghetti by scratch. The three adults continue to chatter, not paying attention to Peter, which he doesn’t necessarily mind.

 

The peace doesn’t last for long.

 

“So, Peter,” Skip starts innocently, leaning in towards him, “I hear you like science, what kind of experiments do you do?”

 

“Uh,” Peter starts dumbly. Despite the unassuming nature of the question, it brings chills to his bones. “Science is okay,” Peter mutters, deciding to ignore the second part of the inquiry altogether.

 

The response doesn’t contribute anything to the conversation, and there’s silence as the other table members clearly expect him to elaborate. However, he doesn’t feel like it, especially not when his anxiety has spiked to an all-time high. He knows this behavior is rude, and a part of him feels bad for being a brat on such an important night, but the bigger part of him can’t bring himself to care. Rather, he chooses to pick up his fork and twirl another spool of noodles to stuff in his mouth.

 

A few moments later, Tony decides to jump to the rescue and snorts, “Just okay? Bud, you just won like four awards last week for your biology project.” A light chuckle follows the comment, causing Peter’s ears to turn dark with the praise. He’s surprised Tony even remembers, despite the fact that the man himself insisted on sitting front and center at all the ceremonies, holding up his cell phone embarrassingly high to snap photos.

 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter interjects, high pitched due to embarrassment, “It was only three, don’t oversell it.”

 

“Three?” Skip chimes in incredulously, “Tony, you’ve got a real Einstein on your hands.”

 

Briefly, Peter shuts his eyes, shivering at the memories that accompany the nickname. Thankfully, when they open again, the adults are facing away from him, carrying on the conversation as if nothing happened. The boy wonders if the intention of all these comments are as innocent as they appear.

 

“Right you are,” Tony laughs fondly, looking towards Peter with admiration. “Found him scavenging a grimy high school science fair. Who knew there would be such a gem in the dust?”

 

“I’d hold on real tight to him if I were you,” Skip agrees with a laugh, a dark twinkle in his eye. Just as quickly as it arrives, it disappears, leaving Peter to almost feel as if he had imagined it.

 

“Of course, have to keep me away from the vultures,” Peter agrees, pausing a second for dramatic effect, “Like Oscorp.” The room is filled with laughter at the joke, and soon a hot discussion about Oscorp practices is launched, diverting the attention away from the boy.

 

Soon, after everyone has had more than enough to eat, Pepper sends Peter away on dish duty – something he cannot be more grateful for. By the time he seats himself back at the table, the three adults have switched topics entirely to business talk, allowing Peter to effectively tune them out for the rest of the night as he subtly checks his phone underneath the table.

 

Around ten, Skip rises from his seat, pausing for a moment to brush some stray crumbs off his pants. “Tony, Ms. Potts,” he addresses, shaking each person’s hand, “It’s been a pleasure. We should really schedule a meeting for further discussion.”

 

“That sounds amazing!” Pepper beams, her face clearly ecstatic. Peter inwardly scolds himself for the wave of sadness that washes over himself. He knows what a younger man would do to the board of Stark Industries. Skip could connect to the younger population in way that the current sixty-year-old white men just could not. The man was something new, something fresh; if Stark Industries didn’t get their hands on him, somebody else probably would. Peter hated himself for not being more excited for the opportunity.

 

“Alright, I will be in touch,” Skip grins, pulling his phone out, “And I will just call a car-”

 

“Nonsense! Pete can drive you,” Tony interjects hastily, also clearly happy with the outcome of the evening. The offer causes Peter’s head to shoot up in surprise from his spot at the dining room table. Considering everything, giving Skip a ride home is probably at the very bottom of the list of things he would like to be doing tonight.

 

“Uhh,” Peter stammers, trying his best to find an excuse to not without raising suspicion. Unfortunately, his mind is pulling a blank, “It’s a school night.”

 

Tony stares at him for a moment, eyes knit in confusion. “It’s Saturday,” he says slowly. “Besides, what newly licensed sixteen-year-old isn’t  _dying_  to take a car out for a spin. I’ll even let you drive the red Audi,” he continues, finishing with a wink.

 

The man was right. At any other time, Peter would have loved to drive, possibly even beg to do so. With the New York City traffic, Tony still preferred that Happy was Peter’s primary mode of transportation. The older man just had more experience and Tony felt more at ease during rush hours. As a result, Peter didn’t get many opportunities to drive, especially one of the nicer cars. But now, the painful feeling in Peter’s gut had him wishing otherwise. However, the teen couldn’t find a good enough excuse to counteract Tony’s statements. Maybe he was just overreacting. Maybe Skip wasn’t as bad as Peter remembered.

 

“I guess I can’t resist a deal like that,” Peter laughs, accepting his fate with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I'm working on this I'm finding the story line increasingly...uncanon compliant. Oops?

Skip, as it turns out, lives a good forty-five minutes away.

 

And, as Peter is about to discover, a lot can happen in forty-five minutes.

 

The first fifteen minutes of the drive is relatively uneventful as Skip and Peter make polite small talk. How Peter likes his school, what his extracurricular activities are, what his friends are like – nothing too substantial. However, somewhere between Exit 194 and Exit 195, the overall tone of the conversation makes sharp turn towards the worst.

 

“Now, Peter, let’s cut to the chase,” Skip announces after one of Peter’s ramblings about his latest chemistry test dies down. The older man leans into the center console with a Cheshire cat grin plastered on his face, causing Peter to fidget uncomfortably in his seat, unsure of how to respond to the statement. The young, charismatic man who had spend a pleasant evening with the Stark family has disappeared. Instead, crawling out of that man’s empty shell is the teenager Peter had learned to be so scared of. The one that had a mischievous glint to his eyes and a smile that only promised pain.

 

Peter nearly veers off the road with the surprise of a hand on his upper thigh.

 

“Uh, Skip?” he squeaks, trying his best to maintain his focus on the road. Clueless cars pass by, oblivious to what’s going down in the confines of the Audi. Speeding by too fast to see the whiteness of the kid’s knuckles as they clutch the steering wheel.

 

“Don’t act like you don’t remember,” Skip laughs, gently massaging the skin underneath his hands, the touch a stark contrast to his voice. The sound is dark and menacing and cold and makes Peter shiver in the memory of what follows such a laugh. “I know I sure didn’t.”

 

Of course, Peter remembers. How could he forget? He could never forget.

 

_“But Mayyyy,” nine-year-old Peter whines, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose once again. With an irritated sigh, the boy pushes them back up before crossing his arms and sending a, quite frankly unmenacing, glare to the woman._

_“Peter, please,” May begs, her voice clearly laced with guilt. The two are sitting on the tattered leather couch in their small apartment. A quick glance at the clock tells the woman she needs to leave very soon in order to make it to her shift on time. However, young Peter seems to think it would be more beneficial for the her to stay home, something she really regrets she can’t do more often._

_“It’s only six hours,” She reasons, trying her best to reassure her nephew, “And Skip will be here the entire time to keep you company!” All she gets in response is a frustrated whine – if anything her response only seems to agitate the boy even more._

_Peter looks at his aunt skeptically, pressing the tips of his fingers together (a classic nervous tick of his). Tears are threatening to spill over his long lashes that are already clumped together from a tantrum earlier in the afternoon – it’s clear he is not happy with the situation._

_“I-I just miss you,” he eventually confesses, his voice wavering, “A lot.” May thinks the tremor is from sadness, but in reality it’s from the fear._

_The truth is that Peter really does miss his aunt. He misses her especially when Skip makes him do experiments, and not the fun kind. Ones that make Peter feel weird and gross and desperate for someone to love him. He really, really misses her afterwards, though, when he no longer feels safe in his own home, scared of the man who is supposed to be caring for him. She can’t know the truth though, Skip had told him that she would be upset if she found out. It had to be their little secret. Peter had never had friends to keep secrets with before, he can’t mess it up._

_May’s face softens at the confession. “I know, sweetheart,” she whispers, pulling the boy in for a hug, “Just a little bit longer, I promise.” She reaches up to run her hands through Peter’s unruly curls, a gesture that has always calmed him down._

_A light knock on the door interrupts the moment soon after. Peter can’t suppress the involuntary whimper that escapes his lips. He knows what lies on the other side and only wants to cling to his aunt harder._

_May sighs, pushing herself off the couch to make her way towards the door. Peter had always been a clingy child. It was to be expected, as he was an orphaned kid who was terribly shy and struggled with making friends. However, he’s been especially clingy following the death of Ben – he never liked to be left behind by May. It was difficult for him to be apart from her for so long during school hours, and the additional shifts at the hospital did little to ease the situation._

_However, a high school student who lived just two floors up was generous enough to help the small family out. He offered to babysit Peter and listen to him talk about science all day and build Lego sets without growing bored. He acted as a genuine, good friend for Peter, and May couldn’t be more thankful for him. In the beginning, Peter couldn’t help but babble all day about how much he loved the other boy. On top of everything, Skip was free; a true blessing for the Parker family._

_“Peter, look who’s here!” May announces when she swings open the door, more excitement than necessary in her voice. Peter just lets out a pitiful sniffle without looking out. Defeated, May lets out a soft sigh, too quiet for the boy to pick up on, but loud enough to earn a sympathetic look from the teenage boy in the doorway._

_“Hey, Einstein!” The blonde boy greets, making a point to keep his voice cheery and light. He crosses the threshold into the room, stopping for a moment to give May a quick hug before putting his hand up in front of Peter for an unreturned high five. Unfazed by the child’s sour mood, Skip continues on. “Got lots planned for us today,” he offers, unrelenting smile still on his face._

_“See, Pete,” May tries to soothe the boy, rubbing his shoulder from her spot behind the couch, “You two will have lots of fun and I’ll be back before you know it.”_

_She receives only a sniffle in response. After sending a grateful look in Skip’s direction and giving Peter one final kiss to the forehead, May exits the apartment. She tries her best to dislodge the feeling of guilt she feels building up in her chest._

_Later that night Skip’s bone-breaking grip holds Peter down as the boy cries and screams and pleads; but May never finds out. The long nights spent with her at the hospital never slow down, rather Peter and Skip spend more and more time together. Two years later, when Skip finally graduates from high school, Peter can’t help but sigh in relief that he would never have to see Skip Westcott again._

 

That is, until now.

 

“Skip,” Peter whispers, afraid to speak at all. “Stop.”

 

The older man laughs, his hand inching closer towards the spot between Peter’s legs. A place Peter had learned years later Skip was probably never supposed to touch in the first place. The boy shifts in his seat again, eyes still trained on the road. There are sharp lines around his pressed lips as he attempts to calm the growing discomfort he’s feeling.

 

“You know, time has treated you very well,” Skip observes, his hand fully cupping the front of the boy’s slacks. Peter’s heart beats rapidly in his chest as he struggles to inhale oxygen and keep the car steady on the road. He’s finding it more and more difficult to do both at once as time goes on. “You were cute then,” there’s a flick of the hand that causes Peter’s breath to hitch, “But, God, you’re beautiful now.”

 

Pushing back a wave of nausea, Peter decides to pull off the freeway and pull over to the nearest stop, with the best interest of the safety for the both of them. His hands, still gripping the steering wheel, are fully shaking and he doesn’t know what to do. There’s a heavy weight on his body that feels so wrong, and he can’t help but think of all those nights the two spent together all those years ago. He knows that it can’t be happening. Not again. It was supposed to be over.

 

“Skip,” Peter warns, voice lacking any sort of authoritative tone, “You need to stop.”

 

“Shh, Einstein,” Skip instructs, acting as if he hadn’t heard a word Peter just said. There’s a small clink and, a moment later, Peter realizes his belt has been unclasped. He can’t bring himself to do anything, though, but rather just sits there paralyzed with fear. “Remember how good I used to make you feel?”

 

_Pain. Blinding Pain._

 

“I mean it,” Peter tries again, voice holding no tone of authority. He shuts his eyes in shame; he’s sixteen now – he knows from freshman year health class that whatever Skip does to him isn’t right. Sexual activities are supposed to be between two people who love and care for each other, and when someone says no you stop. But Peter had loved Skip before they were doing the weird experiments. He had let Skip do all those things to him years ago without every saying no (he had said _stop_ and _I don’t like it_ and _I want May_ , but never a simple _no_ ). Maybe the consent then still carried on to today. Maybe being with Skip was his fate all along.

  
Just because it is fate doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t like it.

 

“Now, now,” Skip soothes, his hand caressing the fabric of the boy’s boxers. The touches are gentle and soft, a sharp contrast to everything Peter has learned to associate with the man. A slight moan escapes into the air, and the boy’s cheeks heat up with mortification when he realizes the sound came from him.

 

“See, doesn’t it feel nice?” Skip asks innocently, continuing his ministrations.

 

Peter throws his head left to right, unable to form the words. He doesn’t like it. He really, really doesn’t.

 

Then, suddenly, as if nothing had ever happened, everything stops. After a couple moments of continued stillness, Peter cracks his eyes open. He’s greeted by Skip smiling fondly at his face, a sight that almost brings back up the dinner from earlier. A too-gentle hand brushes a stray curl out of Peter’s forehead, as if that same hand hadn’t been terrorizing him moments beforehand. Peter gapes in the motion, too confused at the change of pace.

 

“Let’s pick this up another time?” Skip suggests, the same voice he used to talk business with Tony and Pepper an hour before, “Can’t make you stay out too late, else the boss will start to worry.”

 

“And if I say no?” Peter asks carefully, still trying to recover from the shock of everything that has just happened. He hesitantly goes to buckle his belt, hands still shaking.

 

“Then there’s no deal with Pepper and Tony,” Skip states confidently without hesitation, leaning back into his chair. The smug smirk on his face indicates the believes he already has won. Peter cringes at the threat – he knows how important this business deal was. He can’t screw over the company like that, all because Skip makes him a little uncomfortable.

 

“And if I tell someone?” Peter tries again, voice cracking.

 

“Same deal. And everyone knows what a slut you used to be,” Skip responds, his voice that same light, casual tone. He offers that same charming, deceptive smile that Peter had learned to hate before continuing, “Heard you’re trying to go for Ivy Leagues. I would be careful.”

 

Peter’s cheeks burn with the memories. He had vowed to himself nobody should ever find out about the things he let Skip do to him back then. Nobody would want a child who was rotten, dirty. No school would think that behavior is the persona of an upstanding citizen. He could push back those feelings all he wanted, but his past was his reality and he couldn’t run from it forever. Who knew a few bad years from the past could ruin his future so easily?

 

Weighing the options, Peter finds himself fucked by either of the options presented; it just depends on what method he would prefer. He thinks about Pepper and Tony, all the good they’ve done to him. He thinks of Pepper’s soft smiles and the playful glint in her eyes that appears right before they prank Tony. He thinks about her warm touches and amazing brownies that are reserved for special nights in, just the three of them. Then, Peter thinks of the latter and how the man always manages to smell like cheap motor oil and expensive cologne at the exact same time. He thinks about everything Tony has taught him, all the life lessons he’s learned. The couple had taken him in when he had nobody else, when he was a charity case. He couldn’t be more of a burden on him than he already has been. He can’t be selfish and ruin everything they had worked so hard for.

 

“Okay,” Peter finally agrees, voice tired.

 

“My place, Wednesday after school, I’ll pick you up,” Skip responds, triumphant grin on his face. All Peter can do is nod numbly at the instructions. “Now get me home, will you? It’s getting late.”

 

*      *      *

 

When Peter comes back, Tony and Pepper are nowhere to be seen. The teenager exhales in relief at the realization, unsure if he had the emotional or physical capacity to face either of them at the moment. There’s an uneasy knot that’s beginning to form in his stomach, accompanied by the night’s dinner threatening to make an appearance. The overall feeling of uneasiness makes Peter want to crawl underneath his blankets and possibly never come back out.

 

The sudden phantom feeling of Skip’s large hands running over his tight prompts Peter to make a beeline for his bathroom. Once his clothes are carelessly tossed into the corner of the room, he doesn’t hesitate to step into the hot spray of the shower. There’s a slight burn from the steam, but he can’t help but relish in it – it’s the only thing currently keeping him grounded.

 

Grabbing the bar of soap and washcloth, Peter begins to work on removing Skip’s touches.

 

Later that night, when Peter is laying in his bed messing around on his phone – adorned in long pajamas that hide the splotchy red marks of his skin – Tony makes his presence known. There’s a soft knock on the doorframe before the man enters completely.

 

“Friday told me you were back, just wanted to make sure for myself,” Tony announces casually, with a tone saying he cares but doesn’t want to show it. Without waiting for a response, he seats himself next to Peter on the bed and gives the teen a quick once-over. His grease stained face gives away the fact he clearly went to the lab to unwind.

 

“Yep, all in one piece,” Peter jokes, a small smile forming on his face. “Your car not so much.”

 

The glare Tony gives him just causes the grin to become even larger. “Parker, for your sake, you best be joking,” Tony deadpans, no tone of amusement in his voice. Peter knows better though; those words certainly don’t hold any heat.

 

“Please,” the boy scoffs in return, “We both know you’d be lost without me.”

 

Tony can’t help but bark out of laugh at the cheeky response. Peter truly does keep him on his toes. Sighing in defeat, he leans in to run a hand through the boy’s hair. “Goodnight, Pete,” he says, a touch more tenderly he’d like to admit.

 

“Goodnight, Mr. Stark,” Peter responds with a dopey smile. “Love you.”

 

“Love you too, kid,” Tony responds, a strange warm feeling spreading alarmingly fast throughout his chest. Peter just looks up at the man with a face of adoration that Tony definitely doesn’t feel like he deserves. The man can’t help but wonder what he possibly did to deserve having this kid in his life, but he’s not about the question fate.

 

“And I thought we stopped with this whole ‘Mr. Stark’ thing,” Tony adds before the moment can be any more sentimental.

 

“Whatever you say, Mr. Stark,” the boy responds promptly, causing the man to throw a pillow at Peter’s face. The object is easily caught and is thrown back into Tony’s before he can even comprehend what was happening. Man, he must be getting old; his reflexes are obviously slowing down.

 

“Whatever,” Tony huffs, exasperated at Peter’s antics, “Get some sleep squirt.”

 

The second the door is pulled closed, Peter allows the salty tears to fall slowly down his cheeks. He knows it’s only a matter of time before Tony recognizes what a mistake he has made by taking Peter in. See how much of burden he actually can be. Maybe like Skip, Tony will learn about the only thing Peter is actually good for. Peter shivers at the thought, he can’t imagine doing such things with the man he had idolized all throughout his childhood. However, if that’s what the man really wanted, he doesn’t think he would be able to argue.

 

Closing his eyes, Peter tries to stop those thoughts. Hours later, he eventually settles into a restless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The time leading up to Wednesday afternoon seems to pass by way too slowly and way too quickly all at once. The bundle of nerves that had started to form in Peter’s stomach grows more and more with every passing second, pushing itself against his stomach lining and igniting nausea.

 

Sunday passes by with unexpected ease. After a quick brunch spent with Tony and Pepper, Peter locks himself away in his room with the claim that he has too much homework to do instead of being able to socialize with the team. The fact isn’t a complete lie – he does have a calculus test this week that he should probably review for, as well as a physics lab report that won’t write itself. However, Peter can’t find the energy in himself to do either of those assignments.

 

Instead, he burrows under a cocoon of fluffy blankets on his too comfy bed, silently wishing for the outside world to simply _go away_. His mind is blanketed by dark thoughts and memories, which only fuels his anxiety. He doesn’t want to remember anything, but his mind doesn’t listen to him. Needless to say, none of his work actually gets done.

 

When nighttime rolls around, Peter finally finds the motivation to emerge from his warm nest and watch a movie with Tony. It’s one of those really old ones, written with little plot and all action; but Tony seems to like it and Peter isn’t paying attention anyways. However, sitting next to the man helps that bundle of nerves to unwind just a little bit.

 

As the light flickers across the screen, Peter wonders distantly what would happen if Tony found out about what he let Skip do to him, if the man would even want him around anymore. When weighing the options that could possibly get him out of this mess, he always circles back to the man being disgusted with him. That thought hurts more than anything else. Shivering at the thought, Peter tries his it away and focus on the poorly thought out plot of the movie. Mistaking the boy’s shiver for being cold, Tony wordlessly pulls the fleece blanket tighter around them.

 

Monday morning comes sooner than Peter would like, but the school day passes by rather quickly. Peter and Ned spend the afternoon together building a Lego set at Ned’s house. His mom serves cheese and crackers for a snack, along with some grape juice that the two boys can pretend is wine – a longstanding joke that the three of them have shared for years. The time is a pleasant distraction from the chaos of what has become Peter’s life. For a moment, Peter is able to forget what lies ahead during the rest of the week.

 

That night, Pepper and Tony and Peter decide to go out to eat for dinner. Moments of the three of them are rare; between the two adults’ increasingly busy schedules, only one of them manages to sit down and eat dinner with their kid. Peter pointedly ignores the fact that their celebrating the fact that Skip has officially signed his contact with Stark Industries. The announcement had made the kid’s stomach drop, so he only picks at the expensive chicken alfredo plated in front of him. Any other day, he would have devoured the food, but his appetite is simply nonexistent these days. Tony looks at him with concern, but Peter assures him it’s just nerves for the math test he has tomorrow. It’s clear neither adult doesn’t quite buy it – the kid hasn’t been nervous for a math test since pre-algebra – but they decide not to push.

 

Tuesday is a little harder for Peter to distract himself, due to the absence of both Ned and MJ. Ned has a dentist appointment for some cavities to be filled and MJ is out with strep throat, so he eats lunch in the corner, just him and his thoughts. The morning passes by rather quickly (with Peter acing his test, but he couldn’t recall what was on it if asked). However, his afternoon classes seem to drag on forever. On top of that, decathlon practice was canceled due to the head student’s absence, so Peter is left sitting in his room once again, nervously tapping his leg as he comes to the sinking realization that tomorrow is Wednesday.

 

After dinner, Tony invites Peter to go down to work in the lab for a while. The teen eagerly accepts the invitation, looking for a distraction from his thoughts. The chance to spend some quality time with his favorite mentor was an additional plus.

 

“Don’t forget that I have decathlon practice tomorrow,” Peter reminds Tony that night after they’ve been working for a while. He hates himself for straight up lying to the man’s face, but Tony can’t know the real truth behind the reason he needs to be picked up at a later time than the usual 3:30 sharp.

 

“Oh, do you now?” Tony asks from his spot underneath the car hood, a hint of confusion in his voice. Peter gives a noise of confirmation, but nothing else, as he swings his legs and waits for Tony to tell him what tool he needs next. There isn’t a lot of work for Peter to do, but just like the movie a couple nights ago, it’s comforting to be in the other man’s presence.

 

“Thought that was on Tuesday’s and Thursday’s,” Tony wonders aloud, sliding out from his spot to examine Peter’s face. On any other day, Peter would be touched that the older man had really taken the time to know and memorize his own schedule. Right now, however, the gesture was an inconvenience.

 

“Yeah, well it got canceled today because MJ was sick,” Peter reasons, trying to remain as casual as possible in his tone. Thankfully, Tony doesn’t seem to pick up on the lie and nods in acknowledgement. It’s really a first, being able to lie effortlessly to the man, and the boy couldn’t be more relieved. “So, it got rescheduled,” he supplies, although the addition is more of a given.

 

“Ah,” is all Tony responds with, the blue from the holographic blueprints reflecting on his face. He pinches his fingers together to zoom in on a particular place around the engine before inspecting the drawing carefully. After a couple moments of contemplation, he opens his hand and Peter hands him the wrench without prompting. After resuming his place underneath the car, Tony carries on their conversation, “I’ll let Happy know the change of plans, you know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

 

Peter nods silently at the comment, chewing on his lip as he realizes the hole he’s digging rather quickly for himself.

 

*           *           *

 

Peter stands with uncertainty outside the white house in front of him, shifting his weight uneasily between his two feet.

 

“C’mon,” Skip prompts softly, tugging the boy by his upper arm towards the house in a firm grip. “Got lots planned for us today.”

 

With an uneasy gulp, all Peter can do is numbly let himself be led across the threshold of the house.

 

Things start off...surprisingly uneventful.

 

Peter wasn’t sure exactly what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t eating a turkey sandwich alone in Skip Westcott’s home. The man had even offered a soda, but Peter had politely declined it. He can almost hear Pepper nagging in his ear about the dangers of excessive sugar prior to a meal. Skip himself mills about as he waits for the boy to finish his snack. Sitting there, Peter is hit with a sudden flashback of being babysat by Skip all those years ago. Back when he first did things a normal babysitter did and nothing else. Oh, how quickly the control had been pulled away from Peter back then too. The teen briefly considers taking a hit and calling off their deal altogether. However, Skip’s looming threat of backing out of the company in retaliation still hangs in the air. Peter dismisses his thoughts, this is something he can do for Tony and Pepper. He can help them too, after they’ve helped him so much.

 

Like all good things, Peter’s peaceful time by himself quickly comes to an end. Once only crumbs remain on the plate, Skip promptly takes it from him to place it in the dishwasher. With a strange touch of gentleness, Skip guides Peter towards the bedroom to and instructs him to lay on the bed. The bundle of nerves in Peter’s stomach decides instantaneously to spread to his entire body. The moment he has been dreading all week has finally arrived.

 

Peter isn’t a dumb naïve kid anymore. He knows exactly what Skip is about to do to him, exactly what to expect. He knows that what the other man is doing is wrong, but it’s not like Peter is in a position to do anything about it. He had consented, didn’t he? It’s not like he is nine-years-old and uninformed of exactly what he’s consenting to. No, he’s older now, fully aware about what he’s giving Skip permission to do. The fact that knows now does little to calm his nerves.

                                                         

Everything is just as painful and terrible as Peter remembers. He closes his eyes in humiliation as Skip whispers dirty things into his ears, things that have his dead aunt rolling in her grave. He tries not to flinch too hard when Skip’s calloused hands grab him in all the wrong places, pressing deep indents into his fragile skin. He tries to remind himself to _just breathe_ when a it feels as if he’s getting punched in the gut constantly. The continuous pain eventually becomes strong enough to eventually pull staggered moans from the teenager, sounds that only fuel the older man’s thrusts.

 

It doesn’t stop there, though. There is a brief, blissful period where things don’t quite feel as bad. A moment when Skip isn’t touching him, but they just lay there, breathing heavy and letting their heartbeats slow down. Then very quickly, Peter finds himself on his knees, pushing back his natural reflex to vomit. All the emotions of shame and embarrassment he had suppressed over the years bounces back, throwing themselves in the boy’s face.

 

When five pm comes rolling around, Skip announces that they’re finally finished. Peter can’t help but sigh in relief as he goes to dress himself again. Cloth easily covers the already formed bruises on his hips and thighs, shielding the marks from the outside world. Exhaustion is starting to seep into his bones and all Peter wants to do is go to sleep and possibly never wake up.

 

“That was fun,” Skip says casually on their drive back to Peter’s school. Happy is scheduled to be picking the kid up from there at six after ‘decathlon practice’, so they can’t be late. It would look really suspicious for Peter to be seen dropped off by his ride.

 

Peter picks on a loose hangnail as a response. He’s done talking to Skip for the day. He’s already done enough for the man.

 

“Same time next week?” Skip prods, glancing over his shoulder before changing lanes. The tone he uses is too casual. It’s as if they’re discussing the weather and not their next sex appointment. However, the question causing Peter to jerk up, eyes widening in surprise.

 

“I-I thought this was a one-time deal,” he mumbled, voice small and unsure. He’s not sure if he could survive doing this routine again. It’s physically and mentally exhausting and, this time, who knows how long Skip will stay.

 

Skip barks out a laugh in response. “Oh, Peter,” he says darkly, “For someone so smart you can be so stupid.”

 

The boy looks at the older man, confusion clearly painted on his face. Skip takes the lack of response as his cue to continue his monologue, “You agreed to this, remember? Can you really back down and change your mind? After everything we did today?” His voice turns more and more menacing with every word, more threating, “Besides, do you really want Tony and Pepper to know the real reason for their business deal? The real reason I decided to sign the contract?”

 

Peter shakes his head at the threat. A faint buzzing begins to ring in his head. He mentally curses himself for being so stupid. Of course, Skip wasn’t going to stop with just one afternoon. He knows what a story like this would do for the reputation of Stark Industries. The company cannot take another blow, not with the recent tension caused by the accords.

 

“Then you’re in this for the long haul,” Skip announces with a smirk, “We’re done when I say we’re done.” A hand lands on Peter’s thigh, the action mirroring the fateful car ride from the past weekend. The pressure behind it is too much, and the grip Skip has is beyond uncomfortable. Peter can feel his heartbeat picking up pace. “And I think I’ll be holding onto you for a long time.”

 

Thankfully, before Peter can really say anything else, the two pull into the familiar parking lot of Midtown Tech. As soon as the car stops, the teen wastes no time in showing himself out of the vehicle. The buzzing in his head amplifies with every passing moment.

 

“See you next week!” Skip calls out too cheerfully out the window before speeding away.

 

For about fifteen minutes, Peter is left alone on the school’s steps. He puts his head in his hands, wondering how he could be so stupid. Most of all, he’s confused. He’s not sure if this is actually something worth telling an adult. He had consented, and Skip isn’t hurting him. The dull ache in his lower back tells him otherwise, but Peter chooses to ignore it. Bruises are normal with sex, the cheerleaders were always showing theirs off, what makes his any different? There isn’t anything, he concludes, but there’s an overwhelming feeling of shame that he doesn’t think usually comes with sex. He’s not sure. He’s not sure of anything anymore.

 

The rumble of a car engine pulls Peter from his thoughts. A moment later, Peter recognizes the approaching black Audi as Happy’s car and hauls himself slowly off the steps of his school. Careful to not agitate the bruises he has, the boy gingerly walks over to the car and ignores the sharp stabbing he feels with every step.

 

“Hey kid, how was school?” Happy greets as Peter climbs into the backseat of the car.

 

“Fine,” Peter mumbles, promptly leaning his head against the cool glass as soon as the door closes. He can feel the beginning of a migraine forming underneath his eyelids, a minuscule problem to add to his ever-growing list. His skin also feels on fire, magnifying the lingering touches of Skip.

 

Happy frowns at the response, glancing in the rear-view mirror as he pulls out of the parking lot. The teen is being quiet, a complete 180 from his normal demeanor. As much as he hates to admit it, he almost misses the normal Peter. This one was moody and impersonal and represented everything about teenagers that scared the chauffeur.  

 

“Anything interesting happen?” Happy prods, only to receive a shrug from the kid.

 

A moment later, Peter verbally responds with, “Not really. Just the same old stuff. Tests and Flash and all that.” Peter closes his eyes at the end of his sentence. Maintaining an “everything is normal” attitude is getting harder and harder by the minute.

 

Thankfully, Happy seems to sense that Peter isn’t in a talkative mood and leaves the teenager to be. He mumbles something about teenage angst before deciding to relish in the calmness of the car. Turning the dial of the radio so the much was a touch louder, Happy settles to continue the drive in silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Skip manages to slide back into Peter’s life with ease. The boy’s absence on Wednesday afternoons is attributed to a fictitious group history project that needs to meet weekly outside of class. Tony doesn’t even bat an eye at the news, just mutters something about the problems of group work, and Happy is thrilled that he can dodge the Midtown traffic rush.

 

  
It makes Peter feel queasy how easy it is becoming to lie. Months ago, Tony would be able to detect any fib with ease, no matter how hard Peter tried to hide it. The kid had a history of being a terrible liar, yet when it came to Skip the false words always managed to roll off his tongue with ease. Peter was under the blond man’s spell, but it was looking to be more of a curse. He reverts back to all the old tricks he had picked up throughout his childhood. Wear long sleeved shirts to cover up the finger-shaped bruises. Use some of May’s (or now Pepper’s) concealer to hide the darkening hickeys. Cry in the shower so nobody can hear the pain. These moments are integral to his day to day routine now, precautionary actions taken to protect his darkest secrets.

 

  
His life can never go back to being normal. He’s questioning if it really ever was.

 

  
If life has taught Peter Parker anything at this point, it is you don’t get to pick how your life goes. Some people’s version of normal involves a caring mom and a loving dad in a house with a white picket fence and a rescue dog. Other people’s normal routine depends on the amount of welfare they qualify for, despite working harder than anyone else the world. Instead of picking your fate, you just have the blindly catch whatever life decides to throw at you and hope this isn’t the final obstacle that finally pushes you over the edge. This statement is another truth that Peter knows all too well. His innocent dead parents have taught him that. His uncle, whose blood the kid can still feel some days, has taught him that. His tragically killed aunt has taught him that. This whole Skip ordeal is just another incidence, something else he has to push through.

 

  
He did it back then, he can do it now. Skip is his new normal.

 

  
Amongst the chaos, Friday nights are still set aside solely for Peter and Tony bonding time, a tradition that had been established long before Peter had come to live with the man. Now, it’s nice for the teen to have at least a little sense of his previous life. He can’t help but long for the days before Skip had been reintroduced. Before he didn’t need to watch the world with wary eyes. Back when he felt like an actual human. However, on these special nights together, it becomes a little easier for Peter to forget about his troubles. With Tony present, everything feels different; safer, steadier, calmer. Peter relishes in every moment he can get.

 

  
The following day, however, is always a gamble. After that first night, Skip had commented repeatedly about how much he enjoyed the family dinner and, because she is an excellent business partner, Pepper invites the man over for another one. And another one. And then another one. She sympathizes with the fact that Skip doesn’t have his own family, and welcomes him in to theirs to spend less nights alone, but Peter can’t help but wonder why nobody wants to have Skip be part of the family. Wonders how many people know what he’s really like.

 

  
The worst part is when Tony continues to offer Peter’s chauffeur services to their guest at the end of the night. Peter remains silence on his disapproval of the arrangement, giving the older man the impression that Peter and Skip are possibly maybe even friends – a vision that is far from the truth. It always takes longer to drive out to where the man lives, compared to coming back, typically because Skip is insistent on doing a quickie off on one of the quieter exits. During these moments, Peter’s mind absentmindedly wanders to the fact that Tony would be mortified if he found out what they were doing to his cars. The potential damage that could be done to the interior is substantial, let alone the cleaning charges of the leather.

 

  
The list of reasons why nobody will every find out about Peter and Skip is quickly becoming increasingly long.

 

  
*          *          *

 

  
It’s no secret that Tony is absolutely livid when he enters the room. The anger radiates off the man in subtle ways. It shows in his footsteps as he walks a touch more forcefully than normal, and also by the booming thud that echoes around the office room as his briefcase is slammed down on the wooden desk. His shoulders are tight and the front lines that are on his face seem almost a mile deep.

 

  
“Sorry I’m late,” he grunts, no genuine remorse in his tone. A squeak from one of the office wheels echoes throughout the otherwise quiet room as it protests the harsh yank Tony subjects it to, “Was dealing with some personal stuff.”

 

  
“Is everything okay?” Skip asks, concern lacing his voice. It’s currently roughly around two in the afternoon, giving a couple of minutes. Like every other Thursday, Skip and Tony have a scheduled one-on-one meeting about the performance of the company and potential action plans to take moving forward. Like every other Thursday, Tony is slightly more than fashionably late. The other man isn’t sure why his boss is actually bothering to apologize this time.

 

  
“Yeah, yeah,” Tony dismisses the question with a wave of his hand, clearly irritated, “Peter’s just fucking up his life, that’s all.”

 

  
Skip finds himself subconsciously leaning in at the mention of the younger boy. He knows that it might come across as weird to Tony that a business partner is so invested in his child’s life. However, the younger man feels a touch possessive about Peter, craving and needing to know every detail he can. The boy had been Skip’s trophy first, after all.

 

  
“Oh yeah, how so?” Skip prods.

 

  
Tony draws out a long sigh, uncertainty on his face as he debates if he should go on. On one hand, even if Skip comes regularly over for dinner, there is something to be said about keeping your professional life and your personal life separate. However, with Pepper away for the week on a business trip, he could definitely benefit having someone to vent to. That way, when Tony sees Peter later after work, the man hopefully will have quelled the urge to rip the kid’s head off in frustration.

 

  
“His gym teacher found him drinking under the bleachers with a couple of his classmates,” Tony finally admits, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Never even heard of them before, he’s usually only with Ned and MJ. Real good kids. No, these new kids are some of the ones that have a bad rep. So, not only is my kid hanging out with the wrong crowd, but he’s skipping class and drinking? I don’t know what’s going on with him.” With every word, more and more annoyance seeps into his tone. Yet, it’s clear the obvious disappointment is coming from a place of care more than anything else.

 

  
“That doesn’t sound like Peter…” Skip concurs, knitting his eyes together in worry, “A thing like that on his record could really damage his reputation.”

 

  
Tony nods forcefully at the statement, “And he’s such a bright kid. Could change the world. But instead he’s throwing it all away! For what? Some teenage angst? I have no fucking clue.”

 

  
Skip hums in agreement as his partner continues to rant, his mind wandering to the past. He has witnessed this behavior before, with a younger Peter. Sure, it wasn’t quite the extreme of underage drinking and skipping classes, but rather it was the refusal to do household and sneaking too much sugar during the night. Rebellion was the kid’s method of acting out, desperately wanting someone to see he’s not acting himself. Skip had to tread carefully, or Peter would blow both of their covers.

 

  
“I can talk to him,” Skip blurts out. It’s a messy decision, one he should have thought out more carefully, but it’s too late now. Hopefully Tony will be as easy to manipulate as May Parker once was. Skip has perfected putting on the façade of attempting to helpful in times of high stress, despite knowing he’s the source of the trouble. “Maybe something’s going on that he’s too embarrassed to talk about with his old man.”

 

“Oh no,” Tony hastily replies, “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

 

  
“Tony,” Skip replies seriously, looking the man dead in the eyes, “I’m not asking, I’m offering. No problem.”

 

  
Tony ponders over the options for a moment. It would be nice for Peter to have another male role model in his life to confide in. He, unfortunately, remembers being sixteen and awkward and unsure how to quite deal with life. There were definitely a couple of “grown up” things that he knew he would never be able bring up to his dad, even if they were closer. Yet, there’s a weird feeling in Tony’s chest caused by the fact that Peter could be keeping secrets from him. That there may be some things that Tony may never know about his own kid. (Helicopter parenting at its finest, he thinks bitterly). If Skip could provide the support that Peter needed and Tony was unable to provide, the man couldn’t let his own selfishness get in the way. Peter always comes first.

 

  
“If you could, that would be great,” Tony finally agrees.

 

  
“Really, Tony, it’s my pleasure,” Skip responds, silently triumphant. “I really think it can be chalked up to some teenage rebellion, nothing to be too concerned about.”

 

  
“I hope you’re right,” Tony nods, the frown lines on his face lessening a fraction. After a brief pause, he jumps right into business, “not looking over the last week’s reports it looks like things are going great…”

 

  
Business is actually doing much better than great. The amount of positive media attention Stark Industries has received in the past month has managed to reach an all-time high for the quarter, all attributed to the reformed social media persona Skip created. The amount of negative reviews has also seemed to reach a corresponding all-time low. Additionally, the number of applicants for interns and newly graduated students are through the roof, boosting the potential for a promising future.

 

  
Tony doesn’t think he could have hired a better board member.

 

  
*          *          *

 

  
“Glasses?” Tony asks Peter, who has finally stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast well past the time he was supposed to. The older man looks over at the boy over the wire rims of his own pair questioningly. In the two and a half years Tony has gotten to know Peter, he’s only seen the boy willing appear a handful of times outside the comfort of his own home sporting the frames.

 

  
“Ran out of contacts,” Peter explains offhandedly, squatting down to rummage through the bottom of the refrigerator. Tony suppresses a frown when he notices that the only item the boy manages to scrounge up is a cup of orange juice – a far cry from a proper meal (which he hasn’t seen the kid eat in weeks due to their hectic schedules). As he sits, Peter pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose, only to have them slide back down.

 

  
Tony hums in acknowledgement at the excuse, taking a sip of coffee from the mug next to him. “Well, we’ve certainly not run out of food for breakfast,” he announces, pushing a box of Lucky Charms in the direction of the boy. Peter fidgets in his seat for a moment, sending a wary look at the food.

 

  
“I-I’m not actually that hungry,” the boy responds gingerly, pushing the box back towards the man. The loud growl in his stomach tells him otherwise, but the dull pain of hunger is better than the swell of anxiety he gets on a full stomach. At least the hunger is something he can fully control.

 

  
“I wasn’t asking if you were hungry,” Tony argues, leaving no room for disagreement. He leans over to open the box himself and pouring it into a nearby bowl. After milk is poured into the mixture, Peter swallows hard as he finds himself face to face with the sugary cereal.

 

  
“Eat.”

 

  
Reluctantly, Peter accepts the spoon Tony offers him and dips the metal tentatively into the bowl. After an awkward length of chewing, where the food is well past the phase of mush, he manages to force himself to swallow it down. Tony just nods with approval as he watches the boy with hawk eyes, making sure Peter continues.

 

  
Peter hates the feeling of anything going down his throat these days.

 

  
“So, Pepper and I have a gala tonight,” Tony begins slowly, once the boy is about halfway through his food. Peter raises a questioning eyebrow, inviting the man to go on. Pepper and Tony have galas all the time, and often he isn’t notified of their absence. And, quite frankly, Peter doesn’t particularly care when they occur.

 

  
“It’s supposed to go pretty late,” Tony continues, after the boy remains to appear indifferent, “And Skip offered to take you out to dinner and watch you for the night.”

 

  
Peter nearly chokes on his cereal at the announcement. He already has endured his night of Skip for the week. Could he handle a second one?

 

  
“That’s great and all, Tony,” Peter begins, mind going a million miles a minute attempting to come up with an excuse to get out of such an evening. “But I’m sixteen, I don’t think I need a babysitter for the night.”

 

  
“I’m not saying he’s a babysitter,” Tony defends, deflated a little that Peter wasn’t more excited about the idea. After all, he was beginning to think that the two were becoming friends. “Just figured you could spend some time with Skip, he really does like you. Loves the youth and America and all that.”

 

  
A little too much, Peter thinks bitterly. There’s an irrational voice in his head, nagging that Tony doesn’t trust him. That the man doesn’t think he’s capable of being left home alone. Despite the fact he knows that these feelings are not true, he chooses to embrace them. He masks his fear with irritation.

 

  
“Is this about last week?” Peter demands, suddenly before his mind could stop him. After a very thorough lecture and week-long grounding period, Peter had learned that he should definitely not drink underneath the bleachers of his school. (At least not drink and get caught). The argument is a low blow, as both of them have apparently moved on, but Peter needs to blame a punishment of spending time with Skip on someone else besides himself.

 

  
Tony just stares at Peter, knowing that the boy is intending to make a ruse to change the subject.

 

  
“If last week has taught me anything,” Tony retaliates, voice stern and steady, “It is the fact that you do apparently need a babysitter. But that’s not the discussion we’re having right now.”

 

  
Peter is slightly taken aback by Tony’s calm response, as he was surely expecting an argument. It’s frustrating that the man appears to keep his temper in check, as there is no way to steer away from the Skip topic. Apparently, he can never escape the man. Maybe he should just give up.

 

  
“Okay, whatever,” the kid agrees, brattiness leaking into his voice, “I’ll go to dinner with Skip.”

 

  
Tony inwardly congratulates himself – Peter’s compliance is a small accomplishment, but one still worth celebrating. With the decathlon meet this past weekend, Skip hasn’t had a chance to talk with Peter since the meeting, but Tony hopes that this dinner will be the perfect opportunity to. Some time out of the house may be just what the kid needs. He really hopes that Peter will be able to confide in Skip, especially with the stuff he can’t to Tony himself.

 

  
“Thank you, Pete,” Tony replies earnestly.

 

  
“I’m going to be late for school if I don’t leave now,” Peter responds, dismissing the previous conversation. He glances down to check the time on his wrist, despite the apparent lack of a watch. Quickly, the teen slides of the chair and tosses his empty dishes in the sink before darting off to the elevator with a quick wave goodbye.

 

  
Later that night, Skip doesn’t bother to hide his surprise at the glasses that adorn Peter’s face. He caresses the plastic and tells Peter how nice they look on him. How turned on Skip was at the moment. How they remind him of the boy that he had originally loved. In that moment, Peter decides he really doesn’t like wearing them.

 

  
“Pete, now that I have your attention,” Skip drawls out lazily a little later, running a gentle hand up the boy’s bare chest. He’s been gentle all night, reminiscing on how sweet and compliant Peter once was. “Tony mentioned you’ve been acting out?”

 

  
Alarm bells immediately ring in Peter’s head. Evidently, Tony and Skip talk. Tony and Skip talk more that just simple business. Tony and Skip talk about him. The two are apparently close enough for his parental figure to be sharing details about Peter’s life, without prompting. He wonders distantly if Skip is lying to Peter and has already told Tony about what happens between them and the man just doesn’t care.

 

  
“Uh,” is Peter responds dumbly.

 

  
“Well we both know that if he were to find out about this whole thing was the reason behind some of your behavior changes,” Skip begins to reason, his voice sickening sweet and condescending. At those words, Peter relaxes just a fraction at the statement. Tony apparently still doesn’t know, and that’s the way it should be. The other man continues to talk, finishing his though, “That we’d both be screwed. And not in a fun way.”

 

  
“Y-Yeah,” Peter agrees, eyes hyper focused on the wall behind Skip’s head. He doesn’t look the man in the eye, a rule established on day one. Instead, he looks at a small chip in the white paint, as the pattern and size suddenly has become very interesting.

 

  
“So, you gotta be acting a little more normal, okay?” Skip elaborates forcefully, “Don’t be pulling some teenager shit that makes him more suspicious.”

 

  
Peter nods vigorously, gasping when the older man suddenly moves from his spot inside of him. The teenager had nearly forgotten about the whole sex thing they were doing at the moment, blindsided by the casual conversation he was subjected to. However, now with the important matters out of the way, Skip seems to waste no time taking back the moment.

 

  
“Besides,” Skip continues, his voice slightly breathier than it had been moments ago, “Once Tony kicked you out for being a slut, you’d have no choice but to stay with me.” There’s a low groan as Peter squirms in his hands, clearly uncomfortable. The man leans in to kiss Peter’s jaw before quietly whispering in his ear, “Maybe we should tell him after all.”

 

  
Peter looks away from his wall chip, head shaking back and forth in jerky motions. He doesn’t want that. He can’t be stuck with Skip forever.

 

  
“No, please,” he begs, not above desperation.

 

  
“I’m glad we could have this talk, then,” Skip chuckles, leaning closer to Peter and effectively crushing the teen underneath him.

 

  
Next Thursday, when Tony tentatively asks Skip if Peter shared anything interesting during their dinner, the other man is quick to assure the worried inventor that everything is fine. Peter is totally okay, he’s just trying to find himself in highs school, decide the type of person he wants to be. Typical problems every teenager faces, but nothing to probably be concerned about.

 

  
Every word is absolute bullshit, but Tony doesn’t seem to know.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, massive thanks to everyone who has supported this story so far! :)
> 
> Just a warning, this chapter may show themes of suicidal thoughts or depression, so please read with caution!
> 
> Also, lot’s on angst in this one but Tony finds out in the next chapter so stay tuned!

Peter sniffles as he angrily wipes the tears off his face. His efforts have little effect, though, as more liquid steadily cascades down his face. The raindrops from the light shower around him mixes with the salty water from his eyes and, for a moment, the boy can pretend he isn’t pathetic and crying alone on the rooftop of his homes. He shivers as the temperature around him continues to drop, and his soaked shirt is doing little to protect him from the outdoors. He regrets not grabbing a jacket during his grand exit, but now it’s far too late to go back to get one. Apparently, he can’t even leave the house right.

 

The door behinds him elicits a low creak as it opens. Peter doesn’t make any motion to acknowledge the warm body that settles down next to him a second later. The distance placed between the two isn’t enough to crowd the boy, but he doesn’t quite feel as alone anymore either. Overall, it’s comfortable, but he doesn’t say anything to break the silence. Instead, Peter keeps his eyes trained on the faint glow of the New York city that is visible from the compound, a soft light against the black of the night.

 

“Put this on, won’t you?” Pepper’s eventually asks, extending Peter’s coat about an arm’s distance away. He stares at it for a moment stubbornly before a harsh gust of wind threatens to blow over the both of them. Repressing a shiver, he gingerly accepts the material.

 

“Thanks,” Peter mumbles, the nylon fabric rustling as he drapes the coat around his shoulders. To fully put it on feels like it would take way too much energy at the moment. Energy he doesn’t have. He closes his eyes for a brief moment to relish in the feeling of immediate warmth that washes over him. The rain seems to be letting up anyways, perhaps it was a simple coincidence that the storm would blow over just as Pepper arrived. Maybe, though, Pepper just makes the sun come out a little more.

 

The two of them fall into a comfortable silence, with Pepper watching Peter and Peter watching the city.

 

“You know he’s not mad at your right?” Pepper asks after a while. At the question, Peter turns to look her in the eye for a split second before pointedly turning his attention back to the city. It’s enough time for her to notice the dried tears on his face, but she tries her best to pretend that they’re a result from the rain. Peter appreciates her not saying anything.

 

“He was caught by surprise, that’s all,” She pushes on, scooting minutely closer to the boy. There’s a tiny two-inch gap between the two bodies, but it almost feels like a mile under the tension. However, Peter doesn’t make any effort to move away from her, which should be considered a win in her book. If she has to win Peter’s trust little by little, all night long, she would immediately take the offer with no complaints. Anything she could to do help him.

 

The shouting from earlier continues to ring clearly in Pepper’s mind. She almost couldn’t believe the volume of either of her boys, especially sweet, quiet Peter. He had gotten his latest chemistry test back, only to discover that almost every single question had been answered incorrectly. Instead of telling his guardians about the results, he had chosen to hide them until Tony had puled it out from the bottom of the boy’s bookbag nearly a week and a half later. It only took a couple stern words and irritated comments from Tony for Peter to revert to full teenage angst mode, ultimately resulting in a loud argument that could be heard from all corners of the compound. Such an event was becoming way too common these days. Their short-lived fight spiraled into a lengthy discussion about Peter’s most recent life choices, including his behavior and lack of study habits, and a lecture about their possible implications. The ordeal had been cut short after Peter stormed out of the room, declaring he didn’t want to be there anymore. Tony had only sighed in exasperation, turning on his heel in the opposite direction to cool off.

 

An hour later, when Peter had yet to make a reappearance (but FRIDAY ensured that he hadn’t left the premises and was not in danger), Tony sent Pepper to go check on him. The worry in his voice displaced any frustration he had been feeling earlier.

 

“This isn’t like you,” Pepper tries again after a couple long moments of receiving no response from Peter. This time, the boy looked up at her, a hint of wariness shining in his eyes. She can see the trust shining through, though – he wants to listen to her, he doesn’t look away,

 

“Tony’s just worried, that’s all,” She explains earnestly, her voice soft against the rustling leaves from the breeze. Peter just shrugs, a small gesture but the only response she has received all night. He’s uncomfortable being a burden to someone else, being with Skip was supposed to make Tony’s life easier. Pepper clears her throat before quietly adding, “We all are.”

 

“I-It’s just…I…” Peter eventually stutters out before sighing in frustration. He breaks their eye contact in favor of staring at the hands in his lap, watching as his fingers are pressed together while he tries to string along his next couple of words.

 

In all honesty, Peter is worried about himself too. He can feel himself spiraling down a black hole a little bit more each day, getting pulled further into the dark thoughts of his mind and away from the light and happiness. He’s managed to royally screw up his life, and he’s afraid of himself for what he is capable of doing next. Here he is though, looking up as Pepper is extending a helping hand. Pepper can pull him out of his thoughts. He desperately needs the help but can’t seem to find the words to articulate all his thoughts.

 

“I-I,” Peter tries again as Pepper patiently waits, full attention on him. His words in his mind are swirling together, forming a jumbled mess that he can’t seem to decipher. He doesn’t even know where to begin, what to tell her. At this point, Peter’s not even sure if he can be helped or even deserves to be. He brought this on himself, after all. From the corner of his eye, Pepper’s encouraging smile offers a small amount of comfort. He takes a deep breath before trying one more time to voice his thoughts.

 

“I miss May,” Peter settles on, his whisper cracking on her name, “I miss her a lot.”

 

It’s not a lie, he reasons. The spot where May rests in his heart h as been aching more lately, given the recent events. He craves the comfort that she used to give to him. The safety he felt in her, even during the worst moments of his life. The woman being absent in his life definitely isn’t the full problem though, but maybe Pepper can ease the ache.

 

The full problem is that there is a man who doesn’t make Peter feel safe anymore. The problem is that Peter can’t stand the person he sees when he looks in the mirror. The problem is that he’s just standing around, waiting for the moment when the two last people he has in his life realize what a screw up he actually is. There’s a lot of problems, really. Those barely scratch the surface. Maybe he can let Pepper in on just one though, allow her to have a glimpse of his feelings.

 

“It j-just hurts,” Peter continues, his lips moving before his brain can stop them. There’s no plan in what he says, but there’s no going back now. Maybe he can’t explicitly find the courage to talk about Skip and the pain the man brings, but maybe Peter can admit some more things. Maybe he doesn’t need to shut Pepper out completely.

 

The woman’s eyes soften at the confession. May had died just under a year ago, but there are some days where it feels like that fatal car accident had only been yesterday. Time had passed without the woman, but the people in her life didn’t move as quickly. Peter has lost a lot by this age, and she can’t even begin to imagine how he must be feeling. Everyone has a breaking point, perhaps he was reaching his.

 

“I know, honey,” She soothes, reducing their two-inch gap to mere millimeters, their shoulders barely brushing each other if they sway from a particularly harsh gust of wind. Peter likes the contact and appreciates that Pepper manages to bring comfort without making him feel coddled. It’s almost enough to replace a sliver of the ache of missing his aunt. Almost.

 

“It may not feel like it now, but it will get better,” Pepper assures him. “I promise.”

 

There’s a poorly hidden look of skepticism on Peter’s face that clearly conveys he doesn’t believe her, causing Pepper’s heart to sink a little bit more. The forlorn expression looks out of place on his baby face, making him look older and younger all at once. Oh, what she would give to make the boy feel better, for him to feel safe. The load he carries wordlessly on his shoulders is a load no child should ever be forced to bear. The motherly instincts in her wish she could hold it for him.

 

“I can’t keep doing this,” Peter confesses, emotions swirling into an indistinguishable puddle inside of his chest. He finds it impossible to differentiate one feeling from another and he isn’t sure if he is even feeling to begin with anymore. All he knows is that Pepper is here and available for Peter to lean on, even if it’s just for a short while.

 

Pepper falters, heart beating rapidly in her chest. There’s a dark underlying message typically associated with the words, and it reverberates throughout her brain as she processes the statement. She’s unsure if they’re talking about May anymore, doesn’t know to what level of concerned she needs to be right now. She twists her torso to the left to get a really good look at Peter. Apart from the dark circles in his eyes and the outline of his ribs clinging to his wet shirt, Peter doesn’t really _look_ that different. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t changed underneath, on the inside.

 

“Let us help you,” She offers, “You’re not alone.”

 

Pepper tentatively pulls Peter into a small side hug and lets out a small breath of relief when he actually _leans into_ her shoulder. She had half expected the boy to shy away from her touch, but apparently she has managed to gain his full trust. Peter really did trust her, and he needs her to know that.

 

“It wasn’t supposed to get this bad,” Peter finally speaks again with a shaky breath. “I’ve really messed up.”

 

“There’s nothing that we can’t fix,” Pepper assures the boy, brushing a stray curl away from his forehead. She’s racing to keep up with the boy, but no matter how hard her legs push she can’t reach the point where he is. It’s obvious there’s a missing key to understanding him, but she can almost be certain that they aren’t talking exclusively about May anymore. With her statement, Peter looks up at her, doubt shining in his wide brown eye. Pepper swallows before pushing once more, “But we can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on.”

 

“This…” He starts to argue, his voice already wavering. He coughs awkwardly into his elbow before starting again, “I don’t know how you can fix this.”

 

Pepper swallows the concern that is bubbling inside of her. What could Peter possibly have gotten himself into? She tries to pull up any possibly scenario but is unfortunately drawing a blank. She just can’t imagine Peter falling into a negative situation that would be permanently unfixable. The kid has always lived a squeaky-clean lifestyle, and there’s nothing that comer to her mind that would lead to him turning sour so suddenly.

 

“Well, if you tell me what’s going on, I’ll try my best to help,” Pepper offers, attempting to sooth his doubt.

 

“Promise?” Peter asks quietly, looking down at his fidgeting hands in his lap once again.

 

There’s an aura of incredible childness that surrounds the statements. It’s moments like this one where Pepper realizes that Peter is, in fact, a child still. A child who has gone through a great amount of loss and pain, maturing far too quickly out of necessity. A child who has developed a guilt-complex a mile wide. She pulls him closer suddenly, fueled by those thoughts, only wishing to protect him from the horrors she knows the world possesses.

 

 “I promise,” she replies firmly with no hesitation.

 

Peter nods, seemingly more to himself than to Pepper. He feels himself teetering over the edge of an enormous cliff. From behind him, Skip has a firm hold on the back of his shirt, pulling him away from the edge. There’s a false sense of safety associated with the man, where Peter knows he will never fall. Up at the top of the cliff, he always knows what to expect. Yet, at the bottom of the cliff sits Pepper, who is waiting patiently to catch him. If Peter were to fall, there is no way he should survive buy the woman is sitting there with outstretched arms anyways, waiting to catch his body. Peter decides he can take the change and put his life in Pepper’s hands, even if he’s going to crush the both of them in the process. He closes his eyes to finally take the step forward over the edge when he finds himself interrupted by the creak of the rooftop door opening once again.

 

Pepper closes her eyes in frustration. She knows this moment of trust will forever be lost.

“FRIDAY said you two were still up here,” Tony remarks, once he is close enough to the pair. Two heads look up at him in surprise, and he immediately feels apologetic upon the realization he was interrupting a moment. Peter has an odd expression on his face, as if he is somehow relieved and annoyed simultaneously. Tony’s ego wonders if the annoyance is just lingering emotions from their earlier disagreement, maybe Peter wasn’t over it like he was. He debates if he should just go back inside and let the two finish their talk. 

 “Hi, Mister Stark,” Peter greets after a moment, his voice welcoming. His brown eyes look at him with an unsaid apology and Tony smiles with unspoken forgiveness. 

 

“Room for one more?” Tony asks a touch too cheerfully, patting the seat on the other side of Peter. After receiving a nod of affirmation, Tony settles into the spot, letting out a soft groan as his joints creak in protest at the movement. He apparently is not made for sitting on concrete rooftops anymore. He carefully pulls Peter in for a side hug, a sigh of contentment escaping his lips when the boy settles on resting comfortably between the two adults.

 

The three of them sit like that for some time, watching the city as the rain continues to fall.

 

“How’re you doing, kid?” Tony eventually asks.

 

“I’m okay,” Peter replies softly. Pepper and Tony share a brief moment of eye contact over his oblivious curls, a brief but meaningful interaction. The man frowns, if his wife’s concerned face was any representation of reality, the boy is definitely far from okay. To begin with, people who are okay typically don’t sit on rooftops for hours in the rain.

 

“Good to hear,” Tony nods, deciding to humor him. When Peter doesn’t respond, a period of silence settles over them. There’s a tone of domesticity in the scene that makes Tony’s heart content, despite his lifelong protests against settling down and having a family. Yet, sitting here with an adopted son and beautiful wife makes him feel complete. As if this life is what he was truly made for.

 

As they sit there, Tony makes a mental note to talk to Pepper later, to catch up on what he has missed. To hear what Peter told her in their time together. Peter hasn’t been the normal Peter for weeks now, that much is obvious. However, what isn’t so noticeable is the source of his uncharacteristic actions. The man feels as if he’s missing a giant piece to some puzzle, causing him to be blinded from the whole picture. If he could discover the piece, everything else would make sense.

Later, as it turns out is almost three hours later, nearing two in the morning. By the time the rainstorm had finally came to an end, Peter was having an increasingly difficult time in keeping his eyes open. After some gentle coaxing, he eventually allowed himself to be led to a hot shower and warm sheets. After having their own, Tony and Pepper were finally settling into their own bed.

“On a scale from one to ten, how bad is it?” Tony asks, lifting the sheets so he can slide into them.

 

“Seven,” Pepper responds after a few careful moments of deliberation. There were still moments in their one-on-one conversation that she kept replaying in her head, certain words echoing in her head. She had earned those words though, through slowly made trust. Peter probably wouldn’t want her broadcasting his private thoughts outside of their bubble, even if it was just to Tony. She does think, however, that her husband should know the basics, settling on conveying “He claims it’s just missing May, but I think there’s something more besides that.”

 

Tony nods at the update, wrapping both arms around her. He rubs his thumb absentmindedly on her shoulder as he considers her words.

 

He knows that there is something bothering Peter. The boy simply just wasn’t being himself anymore. Maybe he was stressed. Maybe he was confused about something. Maybe he wasn’t happy living with the two of them. He could list a thousand other reasons what could be wrong, none of them bringing comfort to him.

 

“I can hear you thinking,” Pepper half teases when she doesn’t receive any further response. Tony gives her a soft laugh, a poor effort to cover up the bubbling concern he was feeling in the pit of his stomach. More possible reasons continue to run through his head, but he continues to circle back to the same one again and again.

 

“You don’t think,” Tony starts hesitantly, uncertainty in his voice, “You don’t think he’s afraid of me right?”

 

“No,” Pepper immediately assures him. “Absolutely not. You know he adores you.”

 

Tony’s expression mirrors Peter’s face of skepticism from earlier. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that the two are  _not_ actually blood related. There’s so much of Tony in the boy and vice versa.

 

“He flinched the other day,” Tony confesses after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. He feels a light squeeze on his hand, encouraging him to continue. “I ruffled his hair during breakfast, and he flinched from me. Now he’s scared to tell me about his test scores. Why doesn’t he feel like he can come to me about these things?”

 

Pepper’s face immediately morphs into compassion upon understanding.

 

“Tony, teenagers are notorious for being a struggle,” Pepper comforts, rubbing her own circles into his wrist. She can feel a minute bit of tension fade from his body at the comfort. “You’re not Howard. You’re doing great with him.”

 

Tony only hums in response, clearly indicating he doesn’t believe her. Pepper only sighs, if only she could make him realize. The two of them shift slightly as Tony reaches for the Stark Pad on their nightstand, signaling that the conversation was officially over. He always was the one who wasn’t into diving super deep into the sea of emotions.

 

Eventually Pepper’s breath evens out against his chest, signaling she has fallen asleep. Tiredness doesn’t overcome Tony as easily, though, as he continues reading on the screen in front of him. After skimming one paragraph about fifteen times without comprehension, he eventually gives up the charade and closes the ebook. Instead, he pulls up the footage of Friday’s feed in Peter’s room. He lets out a soft sigh of frustration when Peter isn’t sleeping soundly like he had an hour ago when they left him. Instead, the boy was very much awake and organizing the books on his bookshelf, frustration clearly on his face as he debated the order of the two books in his hands.

 

The bags on Peter’s are even visible from the screen. Tony’s not sure if Pepper is right this time.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Floating is a pleasant sensation, Peter decides. As he floats, he is detached from the aches and pains that have seeped into the core of his body. In fact, he feels detached from his entire body altogether. Instead he is weightless and free of his physical self, able to wander anywhere his mind desires. He no longer is confined to the solid four walls of the room, that feel like they close in more and more with every passing minute. His mind can go far from here. It’s liberating.

 

Peter’s mind reconnects with his body when a sudden surge of pain runs all throughout his body. The change’s velocity is similar to when a rubber band snaps suddenly, hitting the holder with a sharp sting. The resulting change in head space causes his mind to spin, generating a moment of confusion. After a minute, everything comes rushing back and hitting his senses all at once. Peter finds himself suddenly acutely aware of the push and pull rhythm that moves his body. The bitter scent of stale sweat fill up the room, making it even more difficult to breathe. The taste of blood hands in his mouth from the lip tethered between his lips. There’s a bruising pain on his hips, accompanied by a burn that engulfs his chest. He decides he misses the floating.

 

However, despite Peter’s most determined efforts, he is unable to convince his mind to take off flight again. The cloud that was resting between his body and his mind has evaporated, leaving nothing to cushion the fall. He misses the lack of awareness he had while he floated, misses the freedom he had felt. Inside his own body is where his mind feels the most trapped. His body is forced to lay like a rag doll subjected to a five-year-old’s game, no longer in control of what happens. His lack of enthusiasm doesn’t seem to faze the man on top of him though, it seems, as he continues to moan and groan and grind against the limp body. Time moves by way too slowly.

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Skip announces later, once he’s rolled off of the boy and onto the other side of the bed. His blond hair is damp with sweat, appearing almost two shades darker than the natural color. He casts Peter a dopey smile, endorphins clearly radiating off his face in a post-sex glow. It’s almost as if the man hadn’t blackmailed the teen to be in this position. If Peter pretends hard enough, he is able to imagine that Skip is helplessly in love with him and not simply using him for his body. However, such thoughts are far from reality. He’s not sure which truth is more painful. Before Peter is able to think too hard on the matter, Skip continues his thought, “I don’t feel like once a week is enough. You’re going to start coming here on Mondays too.”

 

Peter’s world spins with the words, his mind racing due to panic. There is no way he would be able to manage to fabricate an additional flimsy excuse to be absent an entire afternoon. He can’t look Tony and Pepper in the eyes and lie once again, their relationship is already strained. Not to mention the bubble of guilt that simmers in his stomach every time he does anyways. His idols aside, Peter is not sure if he can even mentally handle another afternoon of the pain Skip subjects him too. Once a week is already becoming borderline unbearable.

 

“I can’t,” Peter chokes out, averting his eyes to anywhere but Skip’s face.

 

“What?” Skip asks with a frown, “Of course you can.”

“No, I can’t,” Peter whispers again. He feels the blood pumping through his veins and the uncomfortable force his heart pounding in his chest. There’s an inner fight with himself not to puke as he realizes what he has done. This moment was the first time he’s ever actually told the man _no_. By the looks of it, the words are not being taken lightly.

 

He doesn’t expect the laugh Skip barks out.

 

“You will,” the man insists, reaching out and gripping the boy’s shoulder with feigned tenderness. The harsh pressure that lies behind his fingers tells Peter that there is actually no amusement at the words. The boy fidgets in the hold, attempting to maintain some appearance of defiance. Skip’s blue eyes are terrifying piercing as he continues, words slow and articulate, “Or else I’m going to show the world those videos of us. Maybe the investors of Stark Industries would like to see what a whore the future heir of their company is.”

 

“No,” Peter shakes his head, twisting out of the uncomfortable grip, “No, don’t.”

 

Somewhere, hidden deep in Skip’s belongings, is a series of videos of some of their afternoon sessions together. The videos are crude and obviously homemade, but the lack of professionalism, in Skip’s opinion, adds an additional layer of charm knowing that they’re something only he can touch. When feeling especially sadistic the man forces Peter to watch them later as a cruel form of foreplay, making the boy touch himself as the clips play. Personally, Peter hates their existence, disgusted that he’s forced to relive some of his darkest moments over and over again. They only serve as a harsh reminder of the mess that his life has become. The thought of those videos released the public physically makes him shiver, beyond uncomfortable with others seeing him like that.

 

“Then you’ll come,” Skip says simply, his voice leaving no room for argument. The amused eyebrow he lifts indicates he knows has already won the fight.

 

“I can’t.” Peter repeats, panic beginning to seep into his voice. Like most events that have been associated with Skip Westcott, this announcement has caught him off guard. His head swims in confusion and distress as he desperately grasps at straws to string a coherent sentence together. He knows he can’t continue to follow Skip’s every command blindly, but the threat the looms over him gives little choice in the matter.

 

The sharp sting of slap is completely unexpected.

 

“You can and you will,” Skip commands, his voice raised. Peter swallows at the tone, involuntarily lifting his hand to soothe the growing red patch that is blossoming on his right cheek. Skip has never previously used physical violence outside of intercourse with him, and that thought is nearly as terrifying as the idea of people finding out about their escapades. The man runs a hand through Peter’s sweaty hair, gripping tight and tugs harshly to emphasize his next words, “You do not say no to me.”

 

The panic that builds up inside of Peter dials up almost an additional ten notches. The blue orbs staring angrily at him does little to calm his nerves, nor convince him that he has made the right decision in sticking up for himself. Honestly, he doesn’t know what he was thinking defying the man. If past experience was any indication, it only makes everything worse in the end.

 

Neither male anticipates the blow to the jaw Skip receives.

 

There’s a shout of surprise, and those angry blue orbs transform from an angry glare to infuriated slits. The hand on Peter’s hair immediately releases its grip in favor of nursing the hit area. The boy takes the split moment of freedom has been granted to roll away from Skip to the other side of the bed, barely out of arms reach.

 

“Why you little piece of-,” The blond grumbles in disdain, lunging forward in attempt to grab the boy again, missing by only a few inches as the boy arches back to avoid the hands.

 

By this point, it is apparent that Peter’s flight or fight response has officially kicked in. Apparently physical violence does not work well in his favor, so running away seems to be the next best option. He quickly rolls off of the bed in one fluid motion, muffling a groan from the surprisingly hard impact of the carpeted floor. For once, he’s grateful for being small and skinny, as he is more agile in this situation. While his defenseless nature is probably what ultimately landed him in this predicament in the first place, maybe the same traits can be used to pull him out of it.

 

Wasting no time, Peter quickly pushes himself up to his feet, breaking out in a run towards the entryway of the house. The muscles in his legs scream in protest at the sudden change in movement; no less than fifteen minutes ago they had been held stiff in one position, leaving no room for mobility. Nonetheless, they manage to carry him. He frantically tries to think up of a decent plan as he runs, but seems to only be able to draw frustrating blanks. There’s a second pair of footsteps that echo throughout the otherwise quiet hallways that remind Peter he just needs to _get out of the house_.

 

Peter nearly screams in frustration once he reaches the front door, inches away from freedom, when he realizes it won’t open. The brass knob fails to turn and the wood refuses to budge, despite his hardest efforts. It’s the type of door that can only be unlocked with a key, even from the inside. Unfortunately, it’s a key he doesn’t have. In a moment of desperation, he haphazardly overturns the innocent glass bowl on the end table next to the door in search for the missing metal object, but groans when nothing useful comes up. He jiggles the doorknob in a last-ditch effort, but the door remains firm in its place. The sound of Skip’s footsteps as he bounds down the hallway is becoming louder with each second.

 

Peter doesn’t have much time left.

 

In a stroke of luck, he suddenly remembers the exit that is connected to the back of the office. Peter pushes back the fact that he remembers staring at the sliding glass door while Skip fucked him over the mahogany desk earlier that afternoon. Rather, he focuses on the door’s existence to begin with, relieved to have another chance to escape. 

 

 “Parker!” Skips scream comes from the top of the staircase, “Come back here you little slut!”

 

Peter tuns in the opposite direction as the voice as fast as he can. It’s a race, really, once it dawns on Skip where the boy must be headed. The office is located inconveniently in the back corner of the house, diagonally opposite from the entryway of the home. The pathway Peter takes is less direct, forcing him to go through a maze of rooms to reach it, but Skip doesn’t have a lithe teenage body on his side. As a result, the two people manage to arrive in the doorway of the office at the exact same time.

 

“Listen here, you piece of shit,” Skip yells when they meet, grabbing Peter harshly by the wrist. The boy tugs hard in refutation of the treatment, but panic begins to cloud his eyes when the grip remains steadfast. The other man had always been stronger than him, and this time is no different.

 

Peter closes his eyes as Skip manhandles him into position. His ribs scream in protest when they’re pressed too forcefully into the hard, unforgiving mahogany wood. A wave of déjà vu washes over him as he’s forced back into the spot where he had started his afternoon in. The obscenities Skip whispers in Peter’s ears only serve as cruel background noise to the torment.

 

“What kind of sucking stunt was that?” Skip demands, slapping Peter’s bare back with enough force to leave the beginning of an imprint mark. The anger in his voice is a new tone that the boy has never heard before. Throughout his entire lifetime, Skip has never been genuinely angry and this new territory is frightening. The man’s next words are accentuated with a round of blows to the boy, “You don’t get to make any calls. I’m releasing those videos tomorrow, you brat. Stupid. Ungrateful. Brat.”

 

Peter whines pitifully at the harsh strikes, his skin burning. However, the lingering threat manages to reignite the fight in him, but his efforts are useless as Skip maintains the upper hand due to their power imbalanced position. The boy’s relentless squirming does make managing him more difficult, yet not impossible. There’s a quiet rumble as the top draw of the desk is slid open with Skip’s one free hand and is accompanied by the rustling of papers while he fishes for something, likely either condoms or lube. Peter doesn’t back down from his fight to break the unwavering grip that keeps his own hands tethered behind his back.

 

Then he sees it.

 

Using the last bit of energy in his system, Peter manages to elbow Skip squarely in the chest, effectively causing the man to break the hold in surprise. In another swift motion, the kid grabs the glistening metal object from the open drawer and immediately flips the weapon to point the barrel at the other man. He is realizing very quickly that he has no thought-out plan for what to do next, but he’s definitely in too deep to backdown now. His arms are shaking from the adrenaline of the moment, but the gun is still clearly trained on the other man.

 

Quickly, Skip pulls his hands up in front of him in surrender, shock written across his face. For a moment, Peter’s shoulders sag in relief. He can almost feel this chapter of his life finally coming to a resolution. Perhaps he can bargain Skip down to never talking to him again, allowing him to close this nightmare of a book. He is in the position to call the shots now, after all. Skip’s amused laughter makes Peter knit his eyebrows in confusion.

 

“You wouldn’t” Skip lulls, a full smile, teeth an all, plastered on his face, “Too much of a pussy.”

 

The man takes one step towards Peter, but the distinct click that indicates the safety of the gun has turned off makes him stop in his tracks.

 

“Try me,” Peter replies, his voice a little too unsteady to possess any real threat.

 

“Do it then,” Skip challenges, smugness on his face.

 

_“There you go, Pete,” Steve praises, using his foot to nudge the boy’s left leg a little further out to fix the boy’s stance. Overall, the kid looks great though, “Eyes on the target.”_

_Peter gives him a quick side glance through the protective glasses he’s wearing, arms outstretched in front of him. He shifts his upper body a little to adjust to the new position the super soldier has put him in. His aim on the cardboard cutout is slightly off, due to his left eye being almost completely swollen shut, but Steve chooses not to comment on it. Aim is for another time._

 

_“No offense, Mister Rogers, but how does learning to shoot a gun help me deal with Flash?” Peter asks with genuine curiosity. There’s a halo of innocence around his face, making the weapon he’s holding look out of place._

 

_“Everything we did earlier is for that. This,” Steve explains, giving a quick pat on one of Peter’s skinny shoulders, “Is for those bullies slightly bigger than him.”_

 

_Peter’s eyes do nothing to hide his uncertainty. He’s not sure if he’s ever going to use this skill. As far as physical violence goes, Peter is strongly at the top of the list of people who just aren’t into it. That’s what makes him such a good target for bullying in the first place._

 

_“With all due respect, Mr. Rogers,” Peter replies slowly, “I don’t think I’ll ever be owning a gun.”_

 

 _Steve just chuckles at the boy’s honesty. He truly hopes that Peter will never find himself in a situation where using a gun in necessary. However, because Tony had come to him personally to ask if he could give the kid self-defense lessons, Steve was going to be_ damn sure  _Peter was equipped for every situation, extending outside of some schoolyard teasing._

 

_“Listen to me,” Steve instructs, gently pushing Peter’s arms down. The limbs retract back to rest limply at the boy’s sides with no resistance. Big brown eyes meet his, full of trust and child-like innocence. Steve squats down so he can be eye to eye with the teen before continuing, “Owning a gun or not, if you ever find yourself in a situation where one is being used for violence, I’d rather the other guy take the bullet and not you. Understand?”_

 

_Peter’s head nearly falls off with the speed he nods his head._

 

_“Alright,” is all Steve says, ruffling Peter’s curly locks. “Now get back into formation...Yeah that’s great…”_

 

_Peter’s eyes fixate on the target in front of him. His hands shake slightly as they remove the safety from the weapon, ears trained exclusively on his instructor’s voice. The look of complete focus is almost comical on his baby face._

 

_“That’s it,” Steve praises, inspecting Peter’s person one last time. “And then just aim and shoot.”_

 

_There’s little resistance as Peter’s index finger slowly pulls back the metal material, sending a bullet whistling through the air. There’s a slight crack as the metal rips through the cardboard. In its place is a clear-cut hole._

 

_“That’s it!” Steve claps, Peter can’t help but smile. He just did that. He just shot a gun. “Do one more. Just remember point and shoot.”_

 

“I knew you didn’t have the balls,” Skip taunts after a moment of Peter just staring at him. The gun still is separating the two bodies together, forcing the man to warily keep his distance. “You’ll always be my bitch.”

 

The sound of a gunshot rings throughout the room.

 

Skip screams as he drops to his knees, the white carpet around him steadily becoming darker with blood. It takes a moment for Peter to process that the red liquid is a result of the bullet hole in the man’s foot. His body reels backwards from the extra force from the gun, and then again from the gory sight.

 

“What the fuck?” The man seethes, scrambling to regain his footing. He’s clearly at a disadvantage, due to his injury, but the angry look on his face is enough to make up for his physical state. The shout makes Peter break out of his stupor as he backs away from the man in panic when he realizes he’s not out of the clear yet.

 

There’s another gunshot. This time Skip is silent.

 

The gun clatters to the ground, and Peter quickly follows in suit a moment later. He stares in horror at the stream of blood that trickles out of the man’s abdomen, staining the white carpet even more. Skip clutches his stomach with his hands, a pained moan escaping his lips. Peter can not pull his eyes away from the sight, even as he feels the adrenaline leave his body and a wave of tiredness wash over him.

 

_What has he done?_

_Eventually Skip’s groans and pained breaths die out, only to be replaced with an eerie silence. Time ticks as Peter stares from his place on the floor, gaze fixated on the lifeless body in front of him. There’s a shrill sound that breaks through his stupor, and it takes a while to process the fact that it’s coming from his own phone. The innocent piece of technology sits at the top of his backpack near the door of the room, only a few feet from where he sat now. Peter had originally set it there when he had first arrived earlier that afternoon._

 

God, had it only been a couple of hours?

 

The sound ceases before Peter thinks that he should answer the call, but he’s given another chance seconds later when the melody resumes once again. This time, Peter slowly makes his way towards the device, accepting the call without hesitation and holding it to his ear with an arm that’s far too shaky.

 

“Peter, honey?” asks the voice on the other end of the line. The tone of this voice is a stark contrast from Skip’s yelling. This one is light and loving, resembling the care of a mother. It makes Peter long for his family.

 

The boy says no words in response, but rather moves a hand to cover his mouth when he realizes what he has done. Skip’s blue eyes, cloudy but no longer angry, stare at the boy, a reminder of his actions. He can’t tell people about that, nobody was supposed to find out.

 

“It’s getting late, and Happy said you weren’t answering,” Pepper continues after receiving no response, worry underlying her voice. Peter pulls his arm away from his ear jerkily to see he has a series of several missed calls from both Tony and Happy on his home screen. Guilt starts to bubble in his stomach at thought of making them so worried. Now Tony will see the monster Peter actually is. Nobody was supposed to find out.

 

“I think he’s dead,” Peter blurts out when the phone is nested against his ear once again. His voice is detached, almost uninterested. _Nobody was supposed to find out._

“Peter, what’s going on?” Pepper asks, not even bothering to hide the concern in her voice.

 

“I didn’t know what to do,” the boy whispers simply, as if it explains everything. Skip’s eyes are still staring, so Peter chooses to look at the ceiling instead.

 

“It’s okay, we’ll figure it out,” Pepper assures quickly. Peter slowly pulls his knees to his chest and curls into himself at the words. He wants to believe her, he really does, but there is a man bleeding out in front of him, and he isn’t sure if this situation is something that is fixable. It wasn’t supposed to get this bad. Nobody was supposed to find out.

 

When Happy had texted Tony earlier that Peter had yet to come out from decathlon practice, everyone had just assumed that the boy had gone out with his friends and had forgotten to pass on the message. It was a fairly normal occurrence – even though Peter was very responsible, he was still just a teenager who made mistakes sometimes. However, as the night went on without any response and the clocked neared 7:30 PM without a word from the boy, Pepper was unsure if that was the case anymore.

 

“Tony’s on his way, okay?” Pepper promises, the sound of metal whirring together is a faint noise in the background. She doesn’t receive a response, but at this point doesn’t necessarily expect one. Besides his slightly labored breaths, she wouldn’t know he was on the line at all. “Can you stay on the line with me until then?”

 

Peter mechanically nods, but halts when he realizes the woman can’t see him.

 

“Yes.” He chokes out, swallowing back the urge to vomit. He wants to tell her that Tony shouldn’t come, that he’s okay. Tony’s going to see him like this, naked and bruised and remnants of Skip still on him. Tony’s going to see what he’s done. He needs a distraction from reality. Nobody was supposed to find out.

 

“H-How was your day?” He shakily asks, eyes still trained on the ceiling. If he pretends hard enough, he can imagine Skip isn’t laying in front of him with glazed over eyes. That he isn’t here anymore. That nobody will find out.

 

“Oh, you remember Aaron, the intern we hired last week? Well it turns out that he has never made coffee from a machine before…” Peter closes his eyes as Pepper launches into her story. He doesn’t listen to the words, but rather to the warm tone and takes comfort in her voice. It’s the first time he has felt truly safe in an incredibly long time.

 

Pepper continues to ramble on about the hectic nature of managing the company, and Peter lets her. He’s not sure how much time passes by before the sound of another pair of footsteps enters the office. Eventually, there’s a familiar face in front of him, and Peter can only blink at the smile the other man is giving him. He’s no longer looking at the white ceiling or the red carpet. He also can no longer see Skip, but rather a different man that feels better, warmer. He realizes that the new face is the man that he lives with.

 

“Pete. Hey,” Tony soothes, trying his best not to be bothered at the dull light in Peter’s brown eyes  once they focus on him. There are bruises on his pale body and there’s blood splattered on him, probably coming from the man who lays across the room. Tony tries to ignore the fact Peter’s not wearing any clothes, and the fact that the boy is shaking like a leaf. His safe now, and that’s what matters.

 

“Mind if I take that?” He asks gently, hand pointing to the phone Peter’s fingers were tightly wrapped around. For a moment all he gets is another uneasy stare, but eventually the boy’s head dips in a nod and hands the phone over to the man. 

 

“Hey, Pep,” Tony says, softly cuts off her rant about incompetent business partners. She lets out an audible sigh of relief when she realizes he has finally made it to Peter. The undeniable tremor in his voice gives away the fact that things are far from okay, though.

 

“How is he?” she asks, almost afraid of the answer. There’s a lengthy pause as Tony assess the situation in front of him. There’s a man who has been shot, Peter who is obviously not okay, and he’s having trouble filling in all the blanks in-between.  

 

“He’s alive,” is all Tony says, voice clipped. Before Pepper can respond he cuts off the call with a hurried, “Love you, talk later.”

 

She stares at the blank screen in front of her, worried about what lies ahead of them. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you to everyone who was so understanding and supportive during my hiatus! I am back in writing, but it's been a slow process due to a naturally crazy and hectic life. I will be working on this story slowly, so please be patient with me :)

The following hours, simply put, are a whirlwind of chaos. Surprisingly, Peter doesn’t cry at all. It’s unusual behavior, considering it is no secret that he tends to grow emotional over basically anything. In fact, it was just the other day Happy found himself rolling his eyes when the kid teared up over a pond of small ducklings in Central Park that were simply _“Too cute, Happy! Are you even_ looking _at the little fluffs?”_ While the baby animals were certainly adorable, the older man strongly believed that the waterworks definitely weren’t warranted. However, the fact that the kid proudly wears his heart so proudly on his sleeve is just one of the many qualities that make it impossibly easy to love him.

 

But no, there’s a distinct lack of tears this time.

 

He doesn’t cry when a group of first responders swarm the room, responding to a call from a concerned neighbor who had heard the gunshots go off. Upon arrival, one EMT had given Peter a quick look over, but soon concluded that there didn’t appear to be a physical need for immediate medical attention, unlike the bleeding man. Instead, she provides a thin blanket for the boy to wrap around his naked body before rushing to join her team to attend to more pressing matters. After Peter wraps the material firmly around his shoulders in an iron grip, Tony’s gentle hands lead him out of the office, setting a path wide enough so it careens around Skip’s stiff body. They both don’t acknowledge the flinch that wracked Peter’s body when the man’s hands had first landed on the teen’s bony shoulders.

 

Once outside, away from the stale air and hushed whispers, the two settle down on the creaky wooden steps in front of the nondescript white house as they anxiously wait for Happy to arrive. The red and blue lights reflect faintly against the white exterior of the house, a parked ambulance and police car serving as a flimsy wall that halfheartedly blocks out the prying eyes of neighbors who are peeking their heads out of their own homes in hopes to catch a glimpse of the commotion. It’s almost sickening, how well the simple house blends into the picket-fence neighborhood despite the horrors that have occurred in it. Almost as sickening as how well the owner had managed to fit in so well into society. Tony isn’t an idiot - Peter had been naked, and Skip from the waist down, when he had arrived. It’s clear that whatever had happened leading up to those gunshots had not been innocent in nature. There’s a pretty graphic imagine beginning to form in his head, and Tony has to make a conscious effort to push it away to the back of his mind. Peter, with his knees hugged tight to his chest, sits stoically next to the man, wrapping the two in silence.

 

Eventually, after Peter shifts for the umpteenth time in an attempt to find a comfortable position, Tony manages to find his voice.

 

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it,” he starts, attempting to hold back the tears that are forming. He gets a side glance in return, but Peter’s eyes quickly revert back to staring straight forward. Nevertheless, he pushes on, “But I think you need to get looked over by a doctor. Make sure you aren’t hurt.”

 

_He is hurt, you idiot_ , the voice inside Tony’s nags, _He’s hurt, and you can’t do anything about it_. Peter stiffens at the mention of a hospital, eyes closing a second too long to be considered blinking. Tony expects tears, or at the very least slight disagreement, but the boy just nods solemnly, shifting slightly closer to the man so their shoulders are barely touching. Tony has never felt more out of his element.

 

He doesn’t cry during the long ride back to the compound, car walls and tinted windows providing privacy from the world. With the cheap blanket still wrapped around his small frame, Peter has never managed to look younger in his whole life. Tony has to push back a wave of nausea when he catches glimpses of hand shaped bruises pressed into too pale skin; the hickey marks that paint too prominent collar bones. Peter presses himself against the leathered interior door, pointedly ignoring the concerned glances Happy casts in the rearview mirror. Tony himself tentatively slides into the backseat after the boy, but there’s a daunting gap created by the middle seat that separates the two. Neither of them makes a move to fill in the space, settling into another silence that is interrupted only by Happy turning on a pop station in a weak attempt to generate some background noise. Tony tries hard not to stare in concern, but it’s hard when all he really wants to do is coddle his boy and wipe the miserable look off his young face.

 

“Tony?” Peter asks quietly later, looking out the window as the city scenery slowly starts to morph into upstate greenery. A small cloud fog forms on the glass window, right next to where his mouth rests.

 

“Yeah, Pete?” Tony responds instantly.

 

“Can it…Can it be Bruce?”

 

“Yeah, kid.” Tony promises, already hearing Bruce’s protests of _I’m not that kind of doctor, Tony_ ringing loud and clear in his head _._ However, moments later when Tony texts the man, he’s pleasantly surprised to find out that Bruce is already certified to perform assault (the word sends shivers down his spine) examinations, per SHIELD protocol for emergencies.

 

“Thank you,” Peter whispers, pulling the blanket closer to his body. There’s still a little bit of a red splotch on his neck peeking out. Tony can’t help but stare at it for the rest of the ride. Peter doesn’t seem to care.

 

He doesn’t cry when subjected to the bright fluorescent light of the medical room, either. Rather, Peter sits perfectly still on top of the white hospital sheets, one hand clutching the gown draped over his front and the other clutching Tony’s. The atmosphere is tense – it’s blatantly obvious that the kid doesn’t want to be there. The man himself will never forget the moment when big brown eyes had brokenly pleaded for him to stay. It’s difficult, to watch his kid get prodded, poked, and photographed, but it’s a necessary evil. Tony doesn’t miss the way that Bruce’s hands shake as he performs the necessary procedures, a deceivingly calm voice detailing what he’s about to do in an effort to not spook the kid. It’s hard for the both of them to see Peter in such a fragile state. To see the bruises in bright white light, to see the red lines that run down his back. To see his legs propped up in stirrups. The entire process is invasive and overt, but Peter manages to take it like a champ. His face remains indifferent throughout the entire ordeal, and the bruising grip on Tony’s hand is the only indication that the boy is in any discomfort at all.

 

Surprisingly, the verbal portion of the examination is harder than the physical. Both men sit in the uncomfortable plastic chairs by Peter’s makeshift bed, clipboard in Bruce’s hand as he tries his best to read the questions off in a clinical fashion. Peter, freshly adorned with sweatpants and a classic nerdy shirt, sits curled up against the fluffed-up pillows, eyes focused straight ahead. Tony’s hand has been abandoned in favor of wrapping both of his arms around his legs, which are tucked firmly into his chest once again. His voice is barely above a whisper as he responds, and they only manage to make it to the third question before Peter shuts down and reverts to only answering with a small shake or a nod. Still, they press on.

 

_Did Steven touch you?_ A nod.

 

_Can you show me where?_ A shake. Bruce doesn’t seem fazed.

 

_Were you penetrated orally?_ A flinch, and then a nod.

 

_Were you penetrated anally?_ A long pause, then another nod.

 

_Was a condom used?_ Another pause, and then a shaky so-so motion of the hand.

 

_Was it consensual?_ A shrug.

 

Tony’s heart breaks a little more with every question.

 

He doesn’t cry when Pepper gently asks if she can hug him later that night, an offer he eagerly accepts. Peter takes a shaky breath against her shoulder, inhaling the comforting mixture of flowers and fruit that cause the ache of missing May to intensify tenfold. Pepper had greeted her boys with a warm smile by the elevator, somehow managing to mask to anxiety she has felt since that phone call earlier that evening. Going off on only a couple cryptic messages from her husband concerning the situation, she had made the executive choice not to crowd the medical room but instead busy her mind by absently going around the residential floor and ensuring everything would be as comfortable as possible for the boy. Her arms provide a motherly sense of security and comfort, but Peter soon steps out of the embrace, a guilty feeling in his stomach telling him he probably doesn’t deserve to be treated so nicely. Instead, he stutters out a greeting to the woman before wrapping his arms around his torso, eyes darting nervously between the two adults.

 

Tony can’t suppress the almost painful flashback of that stormy night Peter had been brought home from the hospital. That gloomy night where the kid’s aunt had been crushed without warning by a drunk driver, leaving him alone in the world once again. That fateful night where Tony had made the choice he wanted to be a part of his kid’s life forever. Peter had looked so unsure and alone and afraid, all the man wanted to do was shield him from the world. Yet, somehow, Life had decided that Peter Parker needed to be brought down a couple notches once again.

 

“Hey, buddy,” Tony starts, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He has to sink down slightly, as Peter is still a couple inches shorter than him, to meet the kid’s eyes. “I bet you’re dying to take a shower, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Peter breathes, volume barely above a whisper. He remains in the foyer, though, looking as if he’s afraid to make the wrong move. Tony just gives him a warm smile. Similar to earlier, Tony gently guides the boy away from the doorway, towards his room this time. They take a quick pit stop at the closet to pick out some pajamas, but they find themselves in the bathroom before Peter can blink. Just as the room starts to fog up from the shower steam, Tony reaches for the door handle and gives Peter one last friendly smile that does little to conceal the underlying worry.

 

“Just let me know if you need anything,” he says, slipping out of the room. Silence is the only thing that answers him.

 

So, Peter doesn’t cry. Maybe Tony wishes he would, though, because almost anything would be better than the quiet kid that is slowly retreating into a distant shell. The man himself had tears freely streaming down his face the moment he shut Peter’s bathroom door. Acting on autopilot, he goes to start a pot of coffee, despite the green numbers on the oven that strongly suggest that the hour is way too late for caffeine consumption. There’s no way he’s going to be getting any sleep tonight though, not when Peter’s distressed face appears every time he goes so much as to blink. Pepper sits with him for a while initially, rubbing soothing circles over his tense muscles as they both mourn the loss of their child’s innocence. Eventually, however, she leaves him with a kiss goodnight and a new pot of coffee.

 

The minute Tony finds himself alone, a warm cup of coffee substituting the company of a wife or a child, he decides he can’t stand it. The silence only welcomes the dark doubts he had about parenting creep into the limelight. In an attempt to ease his mind, he starts scanning the internet for every helpful resource he can find. He may not have been there for Peter in the beginning on this mess, but he’s going to be here for his kid now. However, only fifteen minutes into his research, Tony finds himself running a hand through his dark hair in frustration.

 

_Depression. Flashbacks. PTSD. Eating Disorders._

 

Those are only a few of the popular effects that stem from a situation like Peter’s. The less common ones bring even more dread to his already turning stomach. In the kid’s short life, Peter has managed to push through an unproportionally large amount of trauma, but Tony can’t help but wonder if this is going to be the event that tips the kid over the edge. The thought doesn’t do much to ease the older man’s nerves. Pushing away such negative thoughts, he devotes the rest of the night to reading every single resource that can provide some guidance to giving the comfort and help that Peter is going to need to recover. It’s a frustrating process through, as he can’t help but beat himself up every time he passes another warning sign that seems so glaringly obvious now. He feels like a fool for letting it go this far.

 

Sighing, he fills his mug up once again and resumes his research.

 

The sound of water being poured into a metal bottle eventually breaks Tony out of his fixated thoughts. Looking up from his computer screen, he grimly realizes that the sun has slowly began to creep into the compound via the large floor to ceiling windows. The sky has traded its pitch-black color for a warm pink-blue, dotted with fluffy clouds here and there. It’s a nice day, beautiful really, but the pleasantness contrasts greatly with the bitter bubble that has formed around Tony’s heart.

 

“Hey, Pete,” Tony greets the boy in front of him, trying his best to sound casual despite the pit of anxiety in his stomach that has moved in overnight. He quickly slides his fingers across the screen to pull up the daily news, pushing an article about abuse in teenagers to the background. “You’re up early,” he comments – the clock in the corner of his screen tells him its nearly six in the morning. After the previous night’s events, the older man half-expected the kid to stay in his room until at least noon. Not only does Peter exhibit the tell-tale signs of mental exhaustion (something Tony is well versed in identifying, due to personal experience), but the languid movements and dark eye bags clearly point to physical exhaustion as well.

 

“It’s a school morning,” Peter reasons, tone half-stating and half-questioning with overall undertones of just plain _tired_. He twists the lid of his reusable water bottle on tightly before turning to face Tony. In all honesty, the kid looks absolutely terrible. Anyone could probably be able to tell he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep all night. His usually styled hair was poking out in all directions, direct proof that Peter had put no effort at all into taming his curls. His brown eyes drooped, looking hollow and tired. The wrinkles on his shirt suggested that he dressed himself with the first thing he found on the ground. He was resembling more zombie than teenager at this point.

 

“You know, if you’re not feeling up to it, I can go ahead and call the school. Let you play hooky for the day,” Tony offers nonchalantly. He doesn’t quite feel at ease sending Peter off into the world anytime soon, especially in such a disheveled state. Instead, the man would much rather wrap the boy in a thousand fluffy blankets and coddle boy until he’s old and gray.

 

There’s a flicker of something in the boy’s eyes, but it disappears before the man can decipher what it is. Instead, Peter shakes his head minutely and hastily replies, “Uh, I’m good. Besides, I got a Spanish test,” as he pushes his water bottle into his backpack. The ding of the elevator signals his departure before Tony can even respond. The kid calls out a way too cheerful, “See you later Tony!” as the metal doors slide shut, leaving the man alone in the kitchen.

 

After a moment of thoughtful contemplation, Tony picks up his Stark Pad once again and resumes scrolling through endless amounts of helpful websites. The information on each resource is admittedly overwhelming, listing symptoms and side effects that the billionaire wouldn’t have thought of otherwise. However, upon reflection, he’s proud that he’s managed to accumulate a broad arsenal of techniques and solutions to deal with the stresses related to sexual abuse, equipping himself to help the kid in any way possible.

 

Starks were never made to deal with children. Especially traumatized ones. Nonetheless, Tony refuses to leave Peter Parker to suffer alone.


	8. Chapter 8

Things are bad.

 

It doesn’t take Tony’s genius brain to realize it – the signs are all there and he would have to be living underneath a rock to not recognize them. Peter’s bed is no longer being slept in – rather there’s a tidy nest in corner of the room that the kid prefers to settle into and stare up at the ceiling at night. There are subtle, controlled flinches every time anybody makes a move to touch Peter, passed off with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Tupperware filled with uneaten entrees begin to stack up in the refrigerator, accompanied by empty promises that they would be eaten later. Objectively, it’s clear that Peter is not doing well.

 

Tony had read that it is vital for a victim (a word he hesitantly connects to his child) to feel like their voices are being heard in the aftermath of a traumatic situation. Peter had made it abundantly clear he did not wish to be coddled; he needed space and didn’t want to be treated as if he was a fragile doll that would break at any moment. Tony tries his best to appease the boy’s wishes, pretending to act like he isn’t monitoring the kid’s every movement throughout the day. Honestly, he’s terrified of going a step too far and having Peter push him away forever, to forever be on the outskirts of his child’s life. So, Tony tries his best to act normal around the kid. After all, it has only been three days since Everything came unfolded and everyone is entitled to grieve in their own way.

 

It’s surprising how fast everything turns from bad to worse.

 

The day had actually started off very well. Pepper had gone into the city for business, leaving Peter and Tony alone for the day. The former had been especially chatty, casting an occasional genuine smile that showed glimpses of the old Peter, one that wasn’t run down and saddened by the events that could only be conjured up in such rapid succession by Parker Luck. A couple of slices of strawberry even managed to make it into the kid’s mouth, a feat that had Tony grinning for the rest of the morning.

 

The downfall begins with a single chime, interrupting Peter’s long-winded summary of all the faults seen in the new Star Wars trailer. He pauses midsentence at the noise, curious to see who had the audacity to interrupt him, but his eyebrows knit in confusion when he realizes that the culprit is from an unknown number. The message itself is a single video clip, whose thumbnail is a black image and nothing else. Without thinking too much about it, he presses his thumb against the white play button, shifting the device so both him and Tony could see the screen. It was likely just another prank video sent by Ned and a burner phone app in an attempt to be discrete.

 

The first couple moments of the video are as black at the thumbnail, accompanied by no audio. Peter is just about to close it when an image appears across the screen, immediately causing Tony’s heart to sink and Peter to go rigid beside him.

 

The video is rather a slideshow, compiling a series of raw and uncensored photos of Peter and Skip in what can only be described as twisted. Tony’s eyes bulge out of his head at the first one, which features the former laying on his back as Skip clearly penetrates him. Peter’s slender legs are wrapped around the young man’s shoulders, and his mouth is open in what could be interpreted as either a pained scream or a pleasured moan. The next one is just as grotesque, as Peter’s big brown eyes stare up at the camera, which is angled down towards his face. His pink lips are stretched around a man’s dick, a large hand wrapped in the boy’s curls to hold in him in place. Yet another one shows Peter face down on a bed, knees tucked underneath his stomach. The same hand from the previous photo is holding Peter’s face pressed into the mattress while his partner tugs at the chain that rests between the boy’s wrist as his comes in from behind. Tony’s eyes don’t miss the faint line of blood that is visible just underneath the silver cuffs. The images seem to go on forever, each outdoing the last in pornographic quality, causing Tony’s stomach to turn uncomfortably.

 

There’s a loud clatter as Peter’s phone falls to the floor and he darts up from his seat. Tony’s stupor is broken just in time to see the boy disappear down the hallway and slip into his room. His own Stark Pad topples to the ground as he hastily pushes himself up and out of his seat to follow in suit. There’s blood rushing through his ears as he tears down the hallway, his heart beating wildly in his chest. There’s an overwhelming sense of responsibility at the idea that Peter needs him, and Peter needs him _now_.

 

Within a matter of seconds, Tony finds himself in front of a familiar wooden door. Without any hesitation, he twists the doorknob and pushes the door open without knocking. He frowns when he realizes the room contains no trace of the boy. However, his absence is quickly explained, when the distinct sound of retching inside the ensuite alerts the man immediately of Peter’s whereabouts. His feet decide to follow the sound, hands opening the second door before his mind can tell him otherwise.

 

Tony winces in sympathy at the disheartening scene in front of him. Peter’s face is inches away from the porcelain toilet bowl, rapid breaths escaping his mouth when he isn’t actively dry heaving. His knuckles are gripping the rim so tight that they have turned to a bright white in color, which matches the ghostly paleness of his overall complexion. He shakes as he tries to regain his composure, but harsh coughs betray him as he attempts to gag again. Unfortunately, nothing with the exception of a string of stomach acid manages to make its way back up.

 

“Oh, Honey,” Tony sighs empathetically, immediately crossing the threshold of the room to jump into action. He kneels on the floor next to Peter, resting a reassuring hand on the kid’s quavering shoulder. However, he quickly draws it back to his chest when the boy blindly lashes out against the touch, eliciting a high-pitched whine with his movements. There’s a sharp sting that burns on the man’s hand from where the boy’s sharp fingernails have managed to catch and break the skin, but Tony believes it doesn’t even begin to compare to the pain that Peter is feeling right now.

 

“Peter!” Tony calls, trying to grab the boy’s attention through his rising panic. Peter falls back to rest his body on his heels, seeming to give up the idea of expelling his guts for the time being. He continues to make no motion to acknowledge the other body in the room, his lack of awareness something worrying in itself. Instead, he just shakes his head slowly, eventually resting it between his knees that have been drawn up against his chest. There are tears that fall down his face, slow and delicate and fragile – shining in the light in a fashion that some may describe as beautiful if placed in a different context. It’s a heartbreaking sight, in this case, as Peter looks so undeniably small and defenseless in this curled up form, a small trail of vomit stained on his shirt.

 

“Underoos, listen to me,” the main pleads, ultimately at a loss of what he should do in this situation. Peter is clearly trapped in his own world, drowning in memories and mentally miles away from the present world, unable to hear Tony begging to help him. He’s not responding positively to physical touch, leaving the man no feasible mechanism to cut through the panic and rescue his kid.

 

Suddenly, without any warning, both of Peter’s hands reach up to grab two large tufts of his own curls, tugging with enough force that causes Tony to flinch in sympathy. Peter, however seems to feel differently as he yanks again. And again. And again. Frustrated grunts begin to mingle with his building tears, which are quickly escalating into full sobs. The kid’s eyes are dull and lifeless, bringing a glazed over effect that racks Tony’s entire body with shivers. No child should ever bear a look like that.

 

After another forceful pull, Tony decides to make an executive decision and prays he will not regret the choice for the rest of his life. In one swift motion, he lunges forward and wraps both of Peter’s slender wrists in one hand, trying his best to ignore the panicked keens that fall from the kid’s mouth. He uses his other free arm to pull the now fighting boy closer to his own body in a back-to-chest fashion. The two have adapted the position multiple times throughout their time together, always used for comfort, but this time is the first where Peter is incoherent. It hurts Tony, knowing that he is contributing to the cause of the boy’s distress, but he can’t simply sit still and watch his child fall apart before his eyes. The only goal he can focus on is to get Peter to calm down, a mammoth task by itself.

 

“Peter Benjamin Parker, please listen to me,” Tony pleads softly and smoothly, nestling his head against the mop of messy curls below him, “You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re here at the compound. It’s okay, everything is going to be okay.”

 

There’s only a tiny tremor that occupies his voice as he attempts to remain levelheaded and steady. However, despite Tony’s best efforts, the words fall on deaf ears as Peter continues to cry in his arms. The boy’s torso twists in Tony’s hold, fighting the grip that keeps his wrists gently pinned to his own chest. The distressed whimpers that escape his lips grow more and more agitated by the second and it takes all of Tony’s willpower to keep a firm hold and not cave and let go of the boy. He needs Peter back with reality first, he needs Peter back here with him.

 

Taking a deep breath, Tony presses on. He uses his thumb to rub circles against the protruding bone in the Peter’s wrist, hoping to provide some touch of comfort.

 

“Pete, please, you’re okay,” Tony assures, “It’s okay. Nothing is going to hurt you.”  
  


“No!” Peter cries out, his first word since viewing that fateful video. His head shakes side to side as he continues, “Stop, Skip. Stop, stop, stop.”

 

“Peter, Skip isn’t here,” Tony attempts to explain, tone still calm despite the hammering he feels in his chest. Talking and physical touch – two methods of comfort that Peter typically responds very well to when in distress – apparently are only making the matter worse and, quite frankly, Tony Stark is officially out of alternative ideas. No parenting book could ever prepare him for this moment, where he has to restrain his crying kid in the bathroom of their home. Nevertheless, he continues to push through with what he knows what works, praying that he can eventually get through to Peter, “Peter you’re okay. Everything is okay.”

 

The words continue to fall of deaf ears as broken words continue to fall out of Peter’s mouth in a steady stream of “please” and “Skip” and “stop”. Tony is trying to convince himself that he is doing the right decision; that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his kid got even more hurt under his watch. However, the distressed sobs that fill the otherwise quiet bathroom make it hard to convince himself that he is doing anything that helps Peter at all. Tony sighs and continues to smooth circles over the boy’s wrists and whisper assurances – the only thing he really can do is hold the kid close and wait for them to ride out the episode.

 

Eventually, in what is likely an hour at most but feels like an eternity, Peter’s terrified protests trickle down to pained whispers and quiet sobs and Tony can’t help but exhale a breath of relief when Peter twists in his arms, but to turn his body to face the man this time. The initial glassy look in his eyes is beginning to fade away, replaced with a look of thoughtful recognition. After a series of gross, harsh coughs a couple minutes later, Peter’s breathing begins to even out a bit and the end is in sight. Tony continues to rub the kid’s back while he collects himself, only cringing slightly at the sight of saliva hanging off of Peter’s lip. The kid takes another shuttering breath, as only rivulets of tears run down his face.

 

“There you go, kiddo, deep breaths,” Tony encourages as he looks into the chocolate brown eyes that are staring up at him. It takes a really long time, nobody is sure exactly how long, for Peter to finally manage to stop crying and gain a considerable amount of control on his breathing.

 

“Tony?” Peter’s waterlogged voice asks uncertainly, as if he doesn’t quite believe that the other man is truly in front of him. Both of them are coated in a mixture of tears, snot, and sweat, but Tony can’t bring himself to care as he pulls the kid into his chest without a second thought. Acting on instinct, the man plans a kiss on the temple in front him, his heart soaring as it seems they have reached the end of this monumental panic attack.

 

“Yeah, it’s me kiddo,” Tony promises, pulling the sniffling boy impossibly closer to his hammering chest, “You’re okay, Peter, you’re okay.”

 

There’s an exhale of relief as Peter finally allows himself to completely lean against Tony, the man ready to bear his entire weight.

 

“Tony,” Peter’s small voice speaks up again, more certain than it had previously. Unconsciously, he pulls himself closer to the man, clenching tightly to the cotton t shirt and bringing it close to his face.

 

“I’m right here,” Tony soothes, rubbing the baby hairs that sit at the base of the kid’s neck. There’s still an underlying tremble and occasional tear to the kid’s demeanor, but overall, he’s looking significantly better compared to his state at the beginning of this ordeal. There’s a slight whimper of acknowledgement as the boy scrambles to move closer to the man, despite the amount of space between them already practically being nonexistent.

 

After a few more shaky breaths, Peter starts shifting again as he tries to wriggle out of his mentor’s arms. Tony hesitantly relaxes his limbs to enable the boy some room, but he can’t help but shake the feeling that everything will fall apart if he can’t physically hold it together. The hand against his beard is a shock at first, as Peter absently runs his hand on it while looking at the man with big brown eyes that are bright from the tears. The touch is gentle, barely existent, as if only confirming that the man in front of him truly is Tony.

 

“Hi,” Peter chokes out after a second, His voice croaks on the single syllable and Tony’s heart breaks at the tear tracks, but they’re making progress.

 

“Hi, Honey,” Tony replies tenderly, placing his own, rougher, hand on top of the smaller one on his face. Peter sighs with content before collapsing against the man’s chest once again, a single whine escaping his lips. Tony gently snakes his arms back around Peter’s small torso, pulling him close once more and debating if he’s ever going to let go. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

 

The two sits there, father and son, in each other’s arms on the uncomfortable tiled floor for who knows how long, doing nothing but enjoying each other’s company. The room is filled with a sorrowful cadence that consists of Tony’s deep, steady breathing and Peter’s occasional hiccup. There are small puffs of hot air that hits Tony’s neck as the boy breathes against his shoulder. There’s a comforting hand running through Peter’s hair as Tony absentmindedly tries to detangle the knots. Eventually, footsteps echoing throughout the hall add to the melody, indicating another person was nearing the bathroom. Tony can’t help but instinctively pull Peter closer to his chest, wary of the possibility of a new threat.

 

“God, Tony, you weren’t answering your phone,” Pepper’s concerned voice greets from the doorway of the bathroom. She’s still dressed in her business clothes – complete with the high heels and tight pencil skirt. While Tony has no idea how much time has passed since the video first entered their lives, he guesses it is most likely still business hours and wonders if she missed a meeting to check on them.

 

Distantly, he wonders why she would even be so concerned – Tony has not always had the reputation for always being reachable in the first place. There’s a fiery look in her eyes, though; not the _Tony you didn’t do your paperwork_ kind, but rather of the _Somebody hurt you and I will kill them_ variety. Her posture is tense, but her shoulders relax minutely when she surveys the sight in front of her. The realization hits Tony like a train.

 

“You got the video too,” he whispers, it’s not a question; if it were, he already knows the answer by the anger and worry in her eyes. He’s only seen that specific look once – days ago when he informed her of his understanding of the Skip situation. Her protective instincts had immediately gone into gear, ready to murder the man if the deed hadn’t been done so already.

 

“I did,” Pepper admits softly, as if it’s a sin to be saying it out loud. Peter looks up at her quickly, eyes wide with mortification, but Tony is quick to push his head back down with a soothing hand and a brief forehead kid. Thankfully, likely too tired to protest, Peter goes back down without a fight, newly formed tears falling down his face at the words.

 

“Shh, kiddo,” Tony eases, rocking the both of them back and forth, “It’s alright. We’ll figure it out.”

 

He’s met with silence. Peter only spends a couple minutes sniffling, unable to do too much more with the majority of his energy depleted.

 

Tony’s heart aches at the realization that Pepper likely isn’t the only other person to receive the video. He knows the other two occupants know it too. Peter is sixteen, supposedly young and innocent with his entire life ahead of him. He should be preoccupied with typical teenager acts like hanging out with his nerdy friends or preparing for a big win on the decathlon team. Wondering who has seen his recently leaked photographs shouldn’t even cross his mind. The pictures shouldn’t even exist to begin with.  
  


But it’s their harsh reality now.

 

Pepper awkwardly coughs, wishing to help but feeling not knowing how, before settling on filling a Dixie cup with water from the sink, lowering herself gently to join the pair on the floor. Tony gratefully accepts the cup and raises it to the boy’s chapped lips.

 

“Drink.” He commands, and Peter obeys wordlessly before leaning back against the man once again. With his head resting on Tony’s shoulder, he simply stares for a moment at Pepper before tentatively raising his hand to wave at her.

 

“Hey, Pete,” she whispers, returning the gesture. She’s slightly unnerved by the defeated look in his usually bright and energetic eyes, “How’re you holding up?”

 

The teen shrugs. “‘m alright,” he offers noncommittally. The tears have stopped flowing and his breathing, for the most part, is back to a regular pattern. “Sorry,” he adds as an afterthought, although he doesn’t seem to know exactly what he’s apologizing for. There’s a thick layer of guilt covering his skin, though, and he feels like he can’t make any right moves these days. It’s surprising that Tony and Pepper aren’t done with him yet.

 

“It’s okay, Peter. None of this is your fault,” Tony quickly assures him, his voice soft and tender. Peter shifts uncomfortably against his chest but he doesn’t say anything in response. Pepper and Tony share a silent conversation over the kid’s head, both clearly worried about their child’s current state. There’s an unspoken debate on what should be done next – unsure what the appropriate next steps would be. Eventually, Tony takes it upon himself to continue taking lead.

 

The three moves to Peter’s room, squishing themselves together on the child’s queen-sized bed, and settled in for watching Netflix. Peter barely makes it through one episode of the show they’re currently binge watching before nodding off against Tony’s shoulders. The adults continue to watch another episode but soon follow in suit, Pepper still adorned in her business attire, falling asleep before the sun even sets.

 

Tomorrow would be a better day.


End file.
